My Roommate is a Secret Prince (And Now I’m His Royal Mistake

The first clue should’ve been the crown-shaped birthmark on his left butt cheek.

But no—I was too busy screaming at Liam for using my favorite mug (again) to notice the way he stiffened when the news played footage of "missing Prince Alexander of Eldoria."

Until the night the palace guards kicked down our apartment door.

Three things happened in rapid succession:

Liam—sorry, His Royal Highness—tossed a sofa cushion at the nearest guard

I hit another with a frying pan (college reflexes don’t fade)

The head guard sighed and said, "Your Majesty, must you always choose commoners?"

Turns out, my messy, cereal-stealing, laundry-hoarding roommate was:

✔ Next in line for a throne

✔ On the run from an arranged marriage

✔ Legally forbidden to share a bathroom with a peasant like me

Now I’m stuck in a gilded palace, being "trained" in royal etiquette by a woman who looks at me like I’m gum on her Prada heels.

Worst part? Liam keeps sneaking into the kitchens to make me grilled cheese at 2 a.m., whispering "You’re still my favorite mistake" with that stupid smirk.

And I—

Oh no.

I think I’m in love with a man whose grandmother could have me beheaded.

"THE ROYAL BALL SCANDAL"

The palace ballroom glittered like a snow globe shaken by an angry god.

I wobbled on heels the etiquette mistress had insisted were "appropriate for a prince's... companion," clutching my champagne flute like it could save me from humiliation.

Then I saw him.

Liam—no, Prince Alexander—stood at the center of a circle of diplomats, his laugh ringing across the room. Moonlight through the stained glass painted him in blues and golds, and for the first time, I understood: This man was born to rule.

That's when my heel caught on the rug.

Three things happened simultaneously:

My dress (a "borrowed" Dior) tore audibly

The champagne launched like a missile—

—straight onto the Duchess of Montovia's priceless diamond tiara

The room froze.

Liam's shoulders shook. He was laughing.

"Your Highness!" The Duchess's shriek could shatter crystal. "This American—"

"Has impeccable aim," Liam finished, offering me his hand. His thumb traced my palm—a secret message. Play along.

So I curtsied. Badly.

Gasps rippled through the crowd as my remaining heel snapped, sending me tumbling into Liam's arms. His whisper tickled my ear: "Told you the shoes were a mistake."

The next morning, the tabloids screamed:

"PRINCE'S MYSTERY MISTRESS HUMILIATES ROYALTY"

"WHO IS THE CLUMSY COMMONER?"

"PALACE INSIDER: 'SHE'S RUINING EVERYTHING'"

Liam slid the papers across the breakfast table with a grin. "Congratulations. You've scandalized a 600-year-old monarchy in 6 hours."

I stole a bite of his croissant. "Just wait till they see what I do at tea time."

"GRILLED CHEESE > CROWN JEWELS"

2:17 AM. The palace kitchens were darker than the Queen's opinion of my table manners.

I was elbow-deep in the royal fridge when a familiar voice drawled: "The Eldorian Star Diamond is kept in less security than this cheddar."

Liam—crown prince, pain in my ass, and surprisingly competent sous-chef—leaned against the marble counter, already buttering bread.

"You shouldn't be here," I hissed, tossing him the contraband gruyere. "What if your fiancée sees us?"

"Ex-fiancée," he corrected, igniting the gas stove with a monogrammed lighter. "Thanks to your spectacularly disastrous toast at dinner."

I winced, remembering how my "To love, freedom, and not being a total dickbag" speech had made the Archbishop spit out his wine.

The sandwich sizzled as Liam flipped it with royal precision. "Besides," he murmured, "I'd trade every jewel in the vault for one of these nights."

Moonlight caught the scar on his thumb—a souvenir from our first apartment, when he'd tried opening a beer with a butter knife.

I swallowed past the sudden tightness in my throat. "Even the Star Diamond?"

"Especially the Star Diamond." He plated our masterpiece with a flourish. "It's never once made me a midnight snack."

We ate leaning against the fridge, shoulders brushing, the only sound the distant chime of the grandfather clock counting down to his coronation.

And when he licked melted cheese off my thumb—neither of us pretended it was an accident.

[To Be Continued...]

Word Count: 250

Why This Works:

Authentic Intimacy – Shared sandwiches > grand gestures

Callbacks – Butter knife scar ties to their "normal" past

Stakes – Coronation clock reminds us time is running out

Vocal Hook:

"Would YOU choose love over a kingdom? (Tag someone who'd bring you grilled cheese at midnight!)"

"THE SECRET REASON HE CHOSE HER APARTMENT"

The truth came out on the worst possible day.

Coronation rehearsals had run late, the Queen had "accidentally" set my dress on fire ("Whoops, these candle arrangements are so tricky!"), and now Liam was staring at me like I’d grown a second head.

"You really don’t remember?"

I tossed a throw pillow at him. "Remember what, Your Obliviousness?"

He caught it with one hand, the other pulling a crumpled flyer from his jacket.

APARTMENT FOR RENT

$800/month. No royals, no jerks, no weirdos who steal leftovers.

My own handwriting. From two years ago.

"You were my first escape," Liam said quietly.

Flashback:

A younger Liam—hair dyed black, wearing a stolen janitor’s uniform—huddled in a Brooklyn alley, watching me tape that flyer to a lamppost.

"I’d just run away from the coronation tour," he admitted. "Saw you yelling at a landlord for refusing to fix a widow’s heater. And I thought…" His thumb brushed my cheek. "If I ever get to choose where I belong, let it be somewhere like her home."

The realization hit like a champagne cork:

The "random" roommate interview where he’d shown up with my favorite coffee

How he’d magically produced my stolen bike two days later

That entire year of domestic bliss before the guards came

"You stalked me," I breathed.

"I studied you," he corrected, grinning. "Then stalked. Then fell in love. Chronology matters."

The grandfather clock struck midnight.

Somewhere, a kingdom waited for its king.

But right now? His crown was in my hands.

Vocal Hook:

"Would YOU forgive a royal stalker? (Swipe for our shocking poll results!)"

Want THE CORONATION FINALE? Let me know! 👑💍