Page 54 of Matched with the Grumpy Secret Prince

I know I need to move. Now.

I swallow hard, my mind racing.

Isaac.

My older brother.

My father’s pride and joy.

The one who was always supposed to take the crown.

But now—now the world can’t know the king is on his deathbed. It would be too dangerous. The moment word gets out, there will be whispers, plots, and people who have waited their whole lives for a chance to seize power.

So Isaac will be crowned king.

Because the castle can’t be without a ruler.

Because the throne will not—cannot—be left vulnerable.

I should have seen this coming.

I should have known that no matter how much I tried to cut ties, the castle would always find a way to pull me back in.

I squeeze my eyes shut for half a second before snapping them open again.

I can’t lose them.

I can’t lose him—the father who was always so hard on me, but only because he wanted me to be strong.

I can’t lose her—the mother who always knew when to hold me closer, who always saw the exhaustion in my eyes before anyone else.

My vision blurs. My throat closes up.

I can’t.

A sharp exhale rips through me, and suddenly, I’m doing something I haven’t done in years.

Something I swore I would never do again.

I pray.

Not because I expect an answer.

Not because I deserve one.

But because I don’t know what else to do.

“God… please.”

“Please don’t take them from me.”

“Please let me get there in time.”

When I step inside, the house feels colder than usual, or maybe it’s just me. My hands are shaking, my pulse a wild, erratic thing as I throw open my closet and yank out a duffel bag. I don’t think as I move—I’m just grabbing shirts, jeans, or anything that makes sense. I’m running on instinct, fueled by panic and the sharp, unbearable pressure in my chest.

I stuff a pair of boots into the bag, my mind barely registering what I’m doing. My parents are fighting for their lives. Thethought alone makes my stomach twist violently. They were fine the last time I spoke to them, even though it was years ago. My father was always stern but steady. My mother was softer but just as strong. They were untouchable, unshakable, but now—now they’re lying in some hospital, hovering between life and death.

I grip the edge of the dresser, my breath coming too fast. I don’t have time for this. I shove the last of my things into the bag, zip it up, and sling it over my shoulder. My phone buzzes as I step outside, and I answer without looking.

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