CHAPTER 3: ADRIAN
KRISTIAN
What am I doing?
What on earth am I doing?
Not only have I snuck out of the palace, but I’m also about to steal a car.
My father would have my head for this. This is not how a prince behaves; I’m supposed to be responsible. I should be a good example for my sister, not join her in this ridiculous—
I stop myself before I can continue listing all the ways this is a terrible idea. Tonight isn’t about duties or expectations. Tonight is about me.
I approach the sleek black car parked outside the servant’s entrance cautiously as if it might suddenly spring to life and yell at me. My heart pounds as I fumble with the handle—locked, of course.
For a second, I just stand there, staring at it. Then I remember something I saw in a movie Elise once forced me to watch with her.
Looking around to ensure no one is watching, I crouch down and peer into the doorframe. Isn’t there supposed to be a way to…? I squint, trying to recall.
It hits me—wires! You pull wires! Or maybe that was for hotwiring? God, what am I even doing? I tug at the door handle again, like it’ll magically unlock. It doesn’t.
“Okay, think,” I mutter to myself, glancing around. There’s a stray rock on the ground nearby. I scoff. What am I going to do, break the glass? I'll have guards on me in five seconds flat.
With a frustrated sigh, I press my forehead against the cold window. “This is ridiculous,” I whisper.
My breath fogs up the glass, and for a moment, I catch my reflection. A prince crouched outside, trying to steal a car like a halfwit. It’s absurd.
I straighten, smoothening the borrowed hoodie as if that will salvage my dignity. Fine. So I’m not a car thief. I glance to the left, and there’s a bright pink bicycle leaning against the door entrance.
I head towards it, muttering under my breath. At least my sister isn’t here to laugh her head off at this appalling moment.
This is all her fault. Her and her stupid 'Lev lite' speech.
The streets of Stockholm stretch ahead, golden streetlights glowing like soft embers in the dark. Every corner, every shadow, feels like freedom wrapped in the promise of anonymity.
The ride to the infamous Södermalm takes about fifteen minutes, and I drink in the scenery as I cycle. It’s all bright lights, music, and laughter. The chill in the air bites through the thick hoodie, but it’s refreshing and grounding.
For the first time in maybe all my life, I move through a crowd of people, and no one turns to me. No one is staring at me, whispering behind their hands.
This must be what Elise feels. I now understand the light in her eyes when she spoke earlier.
I stop in the middle of a particularly busy street and just drink in the vibrancy of the atmosphere as I try to decide what my next course of action is. Then, the sound of laughter and muffled bass draws my attention. A neon sign blinks erratically above a doorway ahead. I squint to make out the name, but the letters blur together.
It doesn’t matter. Abandoning the bicycle under a bush, I step closer, pulled by curiosity, by the idea of stepping into a strange new place no one would ever expect me to be. And as I move in with the small crowd, I don’t stand out for the first time in my life.
Inside, heat wraps around me like a second skin, a stark contrast to the chill outside. The bass thuds low and steady, vibrating in my chest. Bodies move in chaotic rhythm, hips swaying, arms waving. A kaleidoscope of light spills across the room, blue, pink, red, like flashes of fireworks against a dark sky. The air smells of sweat, perfume, and alcohol.
I feel completely out of depth, and I move to the side, staying near the wall as I observe the scene with hungry, wide eyes.
It takes a moment to realize what’s really happening in front of me. But once I notice it, it’s all I can see. Near the bar, not far from me, two men kiss passionately, their hands tangled in each other’s hair. On the dance floor, a woman in a sequined top laughs as another woman pulls her closer. Then, her hand slips under the woman’s shirt and cups her breasts.
My stomach tightens.
Oh. It’s that kind of bar.
A sliver of something like panic runs down my spine. I shouldn’t be here. I should leave. Right now.
Every instinct screams at me to go. But my feet refuse to move.
I tell myself I’m just curious; after all, I snuck out to explore…right? My hands curl into fists at my sides as if that can steady the erratic pounding in my chest as my eyes dart around the bar.
“Not your scene?”
The voice startles me. I turn and see a man about my age leaning casually against the wall just a few feet away. He’s slightly shorter than I am, with long, messy dark curls and sharp, expressive features. His shirt clings to his lean frame, the sleeves rolled up to reveal a little tattoo on his forearm.
I freeze, unsure of what to say.
“Relax.” He grins, and it’s impossible to ignore the mischievous sparkle in his hazel eyes. Oh, what beautiful eyes. “First time? Don’t worry, it’s not as scary as it looks.” He has a thick, distinct accent—Italian.
“I don’t—” My voice comes out rough and unfamiliar. I clear my throat and try again. “I don’t know what you mean.”
One perfectly arched eyebrow lifts, clearly unconvinced, but he doesn’t push. “You look like you need a drink,” he says, gesturing towards the bar where the two men now have hands in each other’s trousers.
I shouldn’t follow this stranger. I should leave.
But somehow, a minute later, I’m holding a glass of something clear and bitter, and he’s lounging against the bar like he owns the place, completely unbothered by the gay porn show happening next to him.
“So,” he says, his voice carrying easily over the music. “What’s your name?”
I hesitate. I can’t tell him my real name and blow my cover. “Chris,” I say casually.
Wow. Genius alias, Kristian.
“Chris,” he repeats, testing it out, and the way it sounds with his accent sends a shiver down my spine. “I’m…Adrian.”
His smile is easy, disarming. He leans closer, just enough that I catch the faint scent of his cologne, something warm and spicy. “Let me guess. You wandered in here on a dare?”
I shake my head. “No.”
“Curiosity, then.” He tilts his head, studying me with an intensity that makes my throat go dry. He eyes the hood pulled up over my head, and suddenly, I feel ridiculous. “Or maybe you’re running from something.”
My stomach twists. He’s too perceptive, but his tone is light and playful, like this is just a game to him.
I don’t respond, and he lets the silence linger momentarily before flashing me another grin. “Well, whatever it is, you’re here now. Might as well make the best of it.”
Adrian shifts, his elbow brushing mine. The touch is light and casual, but my pulse jumps. I glance down at our hands, inches apart on the bar. The room suddenly feels smaller, the noise fading into the background.
When I look up, he’s watching me again, and there’s something different in his gaze now—something quieter, softer.
“You’re tense,” he says, his voice dropping slightly. “Relax. You’ll have more fun that way.”
I try to laugh, but it comes out awkward. “I’m not sure I know how.”
His smile softens. “Stick with me, Chris. I know a thing or two about fun.”
Lev lite (Swedish)- Live a little