Felicity's POV.
As Chris and I finished breakfast, we headed to my dorm so I could pick out a dress.
"Which dress should I wear? Remember, my favorite color is purple," I said.
"Go with the purple one—the one with yellow sunflowers and that yellow belt," he replied.
"Okay," I smiled, disappearing into the bathroom.
After a quick shower, I slipped into the dress, fastened the belt, grabbed my bag, tied my hair in a ponytail, and stepped out—ready for the day. Chris blinked when he saw me.
"That dress should be illegal," he said. "Okay, now it's easier to get a cab. Let's go."
There's something sacred about returning to school after everything it's seen—your highs, your heartbreaks, your transformations.
The moment our cab pulled into campus, I felt it—that rush.
Not from the crisp English air or the old stone buildings, but from the feeling of becoming someone new. The girl who arrived here last semester? She didn't know her dad was a duke. Or that her fake boyfriend was an actual prince. Or that her so-called cousin Mia was basically auditioning to be a Bond villain.
But now I knew.
And I was still standing—lip glossed, edges laid, head held high. And beside me? The guy who'd turned my life upside down with one smile and a crown—Christopher "His Royal Hotness" Blake. Calm. Cool. Collected. Rocking a fitted navy jacket that made me forget my own name.
As we stepped onto the walkway in front of the lecture hall, I heard a high-pitched squeal that could shatter glass.
"FEEEEEEELICITYYYYY!!!"
No need for a psychic. That scream belonged to one person.
"PENELOPE!" I squealed back as she practically tackled me, wrapping her arms around my waist like she was trying to fuse us into one person.
"Oh my gosh, I missed you so freaking much!" she gasped. "Look at you! Your skin's glowing, your waist is snatched! Girl, what kind of miracle water did they give you in Scotland?!"
I hugged her tight. "I missed you more than I missed pancakes during the hospital food era."
Christopher cleared his throat dramatically beside us. "Wow. So I'm just... chopped royal liver now? Invisible? I'm standing right here."
Penelope glanced over her shoulder in mock surprise. "Oh wow, is that The Exiled Prince? I thought you disappeared with the Scottish fog."
We both turned to him and said in unison, "Whatever."
He blinked. "Not one, but two 'whatevers'? Cold."
"I'll just go marry a duchess then."
"Do that and I'll slash your tires," I said sweetly, patting his cheek.
Penelope smirked. "Still spicy. I love it."
"I'm emotional," I said.
"I'm petty," Penelope added proudly.
Chris raised both hands in surrender. "Okay. Noted."
Enter Mia. Of course.
She strutted past in a white fur jacket, designer shades, and an attitude loud enough to silence a choir. She looked like a Bond girl who didn't get the part.
"Wow," Penelope whispered. "The third wheel just keeps rolling, huh?"
"She's more like a flat tire," I muttered. "Needs a mechanic."
We both cackled.
<<<<<
The week blazed by. Campus was buzzing. Matriculation had arrived—and Oxford turned into a royal circus.
Robes were pressed. Shoes polished. Students panicked or pretended not to. Even the sky seemed to cooperate—bright and blue, like a spotlight.
Oxford looked like a movie set. And for once? I felt like I belonged in it.
I stepped into the ceremonial hall, my sub fusc flowing with each confident stride, curls bouncing like they had their own rhythm. My heart fluttered the second I saw him—Christopher—in a sharp black suit under his robe, hair slicked back like he belonged in a fragrance ad.
And then—he smiled. That heart-melting, everything-stops smile that made me feel like I was the only girl in the world.
We walked into the hall together—cue whispers, stares, giggles. Apparently, showing up with a literal prince makes you campus royalty.
Penelope leaned from behind. "Is it hot in here or is it just your drama?"
"Shut up," I whispered, fighting a laugh.
The Chancellor's voice echoed, talking about legacy, honor, excellence—blah blah. The usual inspiring speech that lands differently when you're sleep-deprived and fueled by vending machine granola bars.
I glanced sideways. Christopher was already looking at me. And then he leaned in.
"You look like a queen."
"Trying to impress me?"
"Always. So... have you decided? The Winter Ball? Royal entrance or not?"
I smirked. "Still thinking."
He leaned closer. "I could build you a throne if that gets me a yes."
"Tempting... but I prefer thrones that come with waffles. I'm saying..." I trailed off, watching the hope flicker in his eyes. "Maybe."
He groaned. "You're evil."
"Thank you."
Just then, I caught Mia two rows away, watching us like we were stealing her spotlight. Her glare could've boiled holy water.
I smiled sweetly, leaned closer to Chris, and whispered, "Go ahead. Touch my hand. She might explode."
He grinned and gently laced his fingers with mine.
Boom. Mia combusted.
I leaned in more. "She's plotting your assassination right now."
"Worth it," he said.
**********
Christopher's POV.
Look, I've done formal events before—royal dinners, galas, even terrifying diplomatic meetings where everyone wears medals and speaks in passive aggression.
But nothing—nothing—prepared me for matriculating beside Felicity Paddington.
She walked in like she was born for it—sub fusc flowing behind her, curls bouncing, heels clicking with attitude. She wasn't just stunning. She was fire. Magic. Chaos. Mine.
And when she smiled? My royal brain short-circuited.
Her perfume hit me softly—warm vanilla, with a little rebellion. Roses that don't ask permission to bloom. It clung to my thoughts long after she passed.
She took my hand.
And I nearly forgot how to breathe.
I caught guys staring. Girls whispering.
One guy tripped over his own shoelaces trying to check her out.
"Careful," I muttered. "My girlfriend's stunning. Fatal, actually."
Okay… maybe not officially my girlfriend. Yet. But she was already mine.
When the Chancellor finally ended the speech, students spilled out like confetti. Screaming, laughing, taking chaotic selfies.
I had one goal: get Felicity to myself.
"Come on, Your Smartness," I said, taking her hand.
She laughed. "That's the best you've got?"
"You want 'My Royal Brilliance' instead?"
"Cringe. But acceptable."
We posed for pictures—her in front, my hand on her waist. She turned and said, "Trying to convince everyone we're a couple?"
I smirked. "Not the only thing I'm trying to convince you of."
"Smooth."
Then, as if summoned by drama, Mia arrived.
"Well, well," she sneered. "The prince and the peasant. How original."
Felicity didn't flinch. "Hi, Mia. Your villain origin story is showing."
"You think you've won?" Mia snapped.
"Oh sweetie," Felicity said. "I don't think—I know."
Then Penelope and Joshua photobombed us.
"I'm the fairy godmother," Penelope beamed. "I officially bless this union."
"I'm the awkward sidekick," Joshua added, blinking through his glasses.
"You're both weird," Felicity said, laughing.
Penelope turned to Mia. "Hi! I heard there's a documentary on jealousy. Want me to submit your name?"
Mia's jaw tightened. "You people are disgusting."
"Nope," I said, slipping my arm around Felicity. "Just dazzling."
And with that, Mia vanished.
Then Felicity's phone rang—Wyatt. Her face softened as she stepped aside to talk.
I watched her—this brave, funny, brilliant girl who spun my world off its axis.
And I knew in that moment: no matter what Mia planned, no matter what my father expected—
I was all in. For Felicity. For us.
Even if it meant turning the royal world upside down.