Get to Work, Prince! – Chapter 4 – Aide, Renata

Author: Nikss

All around, nobles sat in perfect ceremonial rows, postures rigid with decorum—yet a single seat remained conspicuously empty.

The highest place. The throne-like chair at the head.

Renata slowly lifted her gaze.

The man who had just drawn back the curtain stood framed in the soft spill of light. He had been the one occupying that exalted seat only moments ago.

“I’ve decided to change the plan,”

Theodore said, voice low and deliberate.

“I will attend the hunting festival after all. It has become undeniable—my brother has strayed too far down the wrong path.”

That face. The one she had seen every single day. The one etched so deeply into her memory that forgetting it would be impossible.

“For the sake of the future… it’s time I stop playing the role of the wastrel prince. Time I start caring—properly—about my reputation.”

Yet when Renata met his eyes, she understood something with brutal, instinctive clarity.

The indolent, languid mask he had worn so effortlessly—the spoiled, carefree second son—was nothing but performance.

Beneath it lay this, a man born to rule, whose arrogance felt as natural as breathing, whose presence pressed against the air like royal velvet wrapped around steel.

While she stood frozen, Theodore had already closed the distance.

He stopped mere inches away.

“And this,”

He continued, turning slightly toward the watchful assembly, “is the one who will help tip the scales in our favor. My loyal, indispensable aide—”

Every pair of eyes in the room snapped toward her in perfect unison.

Renata flinched.

Theodore’s hand settled gently on her shoulder. His fingers brushed once, twice—light, reassuring strokes meant to soothe a startled creature.

For one fragile heartbeat she almost relaxed into the familiar warmth of his palm.

Then came his next words.

“Lady Renata Heinsbrun. Daughter of the ancient alchemical lineage that has served as tutor and mentor to the royal blood for generations.”

A ripple of shock passed through the gathered nobles.

Some faces paled in genuine surprise. Others narrowed in suspicion. A few curved into sudden, too-bright smiles of welcome.

The weight of so many stares crushed against her. Renata instinctively took a half-step back.

Theodore raised one finger.

A single, almost lazy flick of his hand.

And the entire room obeyed.

In perfect, instantaneous silence, every noble rose and withdrew. Footsteps faded. The heavy doors at the far end closed with a soft, final click.

Suddenly the underground salon was empty.

Only the two of them remained.

The air felt thicker now—warmer, quieter, dangerously intimate.

Theodore turned fully toward her. His voice dropped to something softer, private, meant for her alone.

“Renata… are you alright?”

His eyes searched hers with unnerving gentleness, the same hand that had just commanded an entire roomful of aristocrats now hovering near her cheek—hesitant, as though afraid one wrong touch might shatter her.

Yet even in that careful pause, the undercurrent between them pulsed: something raw, unspoken, and far too powerful to name.

She could feel the heat radiating from him.

She could hear the faint, uneven rhythm of his breathing.

And she knew—he was waiting.

Not for an answer.

For permission.

Theodore let his hand glide downward from her shoulder, fingers trailing a slow, deliberate path until they closed—gently, but unmistakably—around her forearm.

Even though she registered the quiet question in his eyes ‘Are you very startled?’, Renata could only stare down at the place where he held her.

At his long fingers wrapped around the thin sleeve of her dress.

At the warmth bleeding through fabric into skin.

In truth, she was beyond startled. Her entire body had locked rigid, every muscle seized by a storm of confusion so violent it left no room for graceful reaction.

Theodore unmasked.

The Crown Prince’s suspicious movements.

The fact that her own carefully guarded identity had been exposed so effortlessly, so completely.

All of it collided inside her skull until thought itself fractured.

“…Just a moment, please.”

At her small, strained voice he released her at once. Stepped back. Lifted both hands in open surrender—Take all the time you need. Breathe.

The gesture was so familiar it hurt.

Even without words, she could read every nuance of his body language.

The slight tilt of his head. The relaxed line of his shoulders. The way his palms faced her in quiet offering.

She had known this man—truly known him—for far longer than she had ever admitted to herself.

Not a stranger. Not entirely.

First, get your bearings. Focus. Calm down.

When she finally lifted her head again, his gaze was already waiting—steady, patient, impossibly deep.

“Shall we sit?” he asked.

Gone was the petulant, boyish drawl of the spoiled prince she had grown accustomed to scolding.

In its place was a voice carved from quiet authority: low, resonant, the timbre of someone who had never needed to raise his tone to command obedience.

Renata’s body betrayed her with a fine, involuntary shiver.

She dragged a chair forward with trembling hands, the legs scraping loudly against the stone floor in the sudden hush. She sat.

Tried—and failed—to hide how tightly her fingers knotted together in her lap.

Theodore watched her every movement with unnerving focus.

After a moment he exhaled a short, almost soundless breath and pressed two fingers to his temple, as though nursing the beginnings of a headache.

His lips parted. Closed again. He seemed to weigh each possible word, discarding them one by one.

Finally he folded his arms across his chest—slowly, deliberately—and lifted one shoulder in that familiar, roguish little shrug.

Ask me anything, the gesture said. Anything at all.

He was deliberately slipping back into the careless, troublemaking mask of the “wastrel prince.” She recognized the tactic instantly, a calculated bid to ease the suffocating tension between them, to shrink the sudden chasm that had opened when his true face was revealed.

He really is frighteningly calculating.

That was the new, sharpened truth Renata now carried about him.

If he could orchestrate even this moment so precisely… just how far ahead had he already seen?

She swallowed once. Twice.

Then, voice barely above a whisper,

“Everything you’ve shown us until now… the laziness, the mischief, the indifference… was it all an act?”

Theodore tilted his head, considering.

“If we must slice it so cleanly into truth and lies,”

He murmured, “then yes. Closer to a lie.”

“But why—”

She stopped herself, throat closing around the rest.

Why go to such lengths?

Why hide so perfectly, for so long?

Why let her—let everyone—believe you were someone entirely different?

The unspoken questions hung trembling in the narrow space between them.

Theodore’s gaze never wavered.

And in the stillness that followed, the air itself seemed to lean closer—charged, heavy with everything they had never said, everything they were suddenly too afraid—and too desperate—to name.

Deep down, what Renata truly wanted to demand was this,

Why? Why did you openly court Lady Brenman—your brother’s official fiancée—in front of the entire court? Why did you stage one outrageous scandal after another until the whole kingdom branded you its greatest wastrel?

Even if it was all to conceal your real self… there’s a limit!

Moderation, for heaven’s sake! And every single mess you left behind—I was the one cleaning it up…

But one does not speak such reckless words to a member of the royal family. So instead she let her sentence trail away into nothing, lips parting and closing uselessly.

Theodore, reading the hesitation trembling across her features as clearly as if she had shouted it, spoke first.

“At first… it was genuine. I truly wished for my brother to ascend the throne. So every reckless, debauched display was also a deliberate signal, I renounce any claim. I step aside.”

He paused, letting the words settle between them like frost.

“Then he crossed lines even I could not ignore. As a prince of the blood, I could no longer stand by and watch. And… part of it was practical. I needed to build my own power base—quietly, away from his eyes.”

The logic was painfully transparent.

A crown prince committing hidden crimes.

A younger brother secretly gathering strength to check him.

Anyone hearing this would arrive at the same inevitable conclusion.

He means to dethrone the Crown Prince… and take the throne himself.

Treason. Plain and unmistakable.

To Renata the word felt less like politics and more like an executioner’s blade hovering above her neck.

Association with a traitor meant annihilation—of name, of bloodline, of everything. Panic surged; she scrambled to change the subject.

“Still… you put considerable effort into Lady Brenman. The letters, the gifts, the public courtship… none of that was real either?”

Theodore gave a small, rueful chuckle.

“Ah, Brenman. That began as reconnaissance—getting close enough to confirm her family’s collusion with my brother. But then…”

His mouth curved, sly and self-mocking.

“My brother reacted rather spectacularly whenever he thought I might steal something he considered his. The jealousy was… useful. So I let it continue longer than necessary.”

Renata stared at him, pieces clicking into place with humiliating clarity.

All those times he had casually dumped the task on her—

“Renata, you write better love letters than I ever could.”

“Pick something pretty for Lady Brenman, will you? You know what women like.”

—and then promptly lost interest the moment the parcel left her hands. She nodded once, weakly, the motion drained of strength.

Theodore’s gaze softened. A low, teasing laugh escaped him.

“I really did make you suffer through that, didn’t I? Sorry.”

He has a terrible temper, that much is true…

She still couldn’t fully reconcile the man before her with the indolent prince she had scolded for years.

And yet—if even half of what he said was accurate—perhaps the Crown Prince himself was no better. Perhaps worse.

Hidden beneath perfect princely manners lay something far darker.

Renata filed the new information away in careful mental compartments, trying to stay analytical, trying to stay safe.

Then one question rose sharp and sudden to the surface.

“My identity,” she said quietly.

“When did you first know?”

Theodore considered her for a long heartbeat.

A slow, almost fond smile touched the corner of his mouth.

“Hm…”

He tilted his head.

“From the beginning?”

The words landed softly.

Yet they struck like a match against tinder.

From the beginning.

Every barbed retort she had thrown at him.

Every exasperated sigh.

Every late-night letter she had penned in his name.

Every moment she had believed herself invisible, safely concealed behind the role of loyal aide—

—he had seen her.

All of her.

The realization bloomed hot beneath her skin: he had known exactly who she was, what she carried in her blood, what danger her family name represented… and still he had kept her close.

Still he had let her stand at his side.

Still he had touched her shoulder, her arm, her life—with a care that now felt terrifyingly intentional.

Renata’s breath caught.

Theodore watched the color rise in her cheeks, watched the way her lashes fluttered once, twice.

He did not move closer.

He did not need to.

The space between them had already shrunk to nothing but heartbeat and heat and the unbearable weight of everything he had always known—and never once spoken aloud.

Until now.

Theodore closed the last sliver of distance between them.

He eased one hip onto the edge of the long table directly beside her chair—casual, proprietary, as though the space had always belonged to him—and flashed that maddening, lopsided grin.

Too close.

Far too close.

Renata’s fingers tightened on the arms of her chair. She inched it backward—an instinctive, minute retreat.

Before the legs could scrape more than an inch, his long leg extended smoothly, the polished boot hooking the rung of her chair and stopping its movement with ridiculous ease.

Her eyes narrowed into thin, reproachful slits.

A soft poke of laughter escaped him—low, delighted, utterly unrepentant.

Even now he’s teasing me. Unbelievable.

Renata schooled her features in an instant. Business smile, polite, professional, impenetrable. She lifted her chin and pressed on.

“When you say ‘from the beginning’… exactly what moment do you mean?”

Theodore arched one dark brow.

“You really think a prince who plots three steps behind everyone else would allow someone into his inner circle without first turning over every stone of their history?”

The mild rebuke carried a razor’s edge—enough to make her flinch inwardly. She pressed her lips together, swallowing the instinctive urge to argue back.

He was right, damn him.

“And whether I investigated you four months ago… or whether I’d already been quietly watching you long before that…”

His voice dipped, softer now, almost intimate.

“The only thing that actually matters is this, I have never once used that knowledge to harm you.”

The words landed with devastating fairness.

He could have exposed her.

Ruined her.

Discarded her.

Instead, from the very first day their paths crossed, he had known exactly who she was—what dangerous lineage ran through her veins—and still he had.

Introduced her to discreet apothecaries when her supplies ran low.

Quietly approved the sudden half-day leaves she requested so she could care for her ailing younger brother.

Never breathed a word to anyone.

All this time… I was the careless one.

Renata exhaled slowly, letting the truth settle like cool water over fevered skin.

She had underestimated him.

Gravely.

And now—watching the quiet certainty in his eyes—she understood something far more perilous: he wasn’t merely tolerating her presence.

He was choosing it.

Choosing her.

She allowed herself one small, unsteady smile—testing the waters of composure.

“You already said it earlier,”

Theodore continued, voice gentling as he watched the tension bleed from her shoulders.

“The Heinsbrun family has tutored royalty for generations. When your father served as my tutor… he could not stop talking about you.”

Renata blinked.

“My… father?”

Theodore’s gaze softened further—almost tender.

“He would go on and on. ‘My Renata solved this theorem before she turned twelve.’ ‘My Renata reads alchemical texts the way other girls read romance novels.’ ‘My Renata has a mind sharper than any blade in the royal armory.’”

He gave a quiet huff of amusement.

“I thought he was exaggerating. Then I met you.”

He leaned forward just enough that the lamplight caught the faint golden flecks in his eyes.

“The moment you walked into my study that first morning—chin high, shoulders squared, trying so hard to look severe and professional—I knew. Exactly who you were. Exactly whose daughter stood before me.”

Renata’s throat tightened.

All those years she had believed her mask flawless.

All those careful deflections, all those layers of duty and distance she had wrapped around herself like armor.

And he had seen straight through every single one.

Not with suspicion.

Not with calculation alone.

With recognition.

With something dangerously close to fondness.

The silence that followed was no longer heavy with danger.

It was thick with something warmer. Something that made her pulse stutter and her breath catch every time his gaze lingered half a second too long on her mouth.

Theodore did not move away.

Neither did she.

And in the hush between one heartbeat and the next, the air itself seemed to lean in—waiting, aching, for whichever one of them would be brave enough to close the final, trembling inch.

Renata could only stare—wide-eyed, frozen, utterly at a loss.

The words he had just spoken echoed inside her skull like struck crystal, too bright, too fragile, too impossible to process.

“The most lovable alchemist in the world,” he had said.

Her father’s words.

Repeated now, in Theodore’s low, amused voice—as though they were a secret he had been treasuring all this time.

“Wh—what?” she stammered.

“That’s not—I mean, yes, I am an alchemist, but—”

“So it’s true?”

His eyes sparkled with wicked delight.

“Or false?”

“Half-true,” she managed, cheeks burning.

“Which means the ‘lovable’ part stands.”

“The modifier is… excessive. But—yes. I suppose… it does.”

She gave one tiny, helpless nod—surrender disguised as permission—and dipped into the shallowest, most formal bow she could manage.

“Thank you… for responding so graciously to my earlier discourtesy.”

The man standing before her was no longer the careless prince she had once believed she could manage.

He was frighteningly competent.

Possessed every quality that would make him not just a prince—but a king.

And beneath that regal competence lay the same willful, sharp-tempered nature she had always known… only now it was honed into something lethal.

A rebel leader dangerous enough to topple empires.

Entanglement with him would be ruin.

So she straightened, gathered every shred of composure she had left, and spoke the only safe words she could find.

“Furthermore… everything I have heard and witnessed today, I will forget. Completely. I will leave quietly. And I ask that you, Your Highness… please forget me as well.”

Theodore let out a soft, incredulous laugh.

“Running away already?”

He rose fluidly from the table’s edge, cutting through her careful exit line as though he had anticipated every syllable.

Renata’s heart slammed against her ribs.

He stepped forward—slow, deliberate—until his hand settled lightly on the back of her chair.

The simple gesture pinned her in place more effectively than iron manacles.

“Think carefully, Renata.”

His voice dropped to velvet danger.

“Now that you know who I truly am… do you honestly believe I would ever let you walk out of here so easily?”

She tried to shift sideways—subtle, barely noticeable.

He mirrored the movement without hurry, fingertips trailing along the chair’s carved back, casually redirecting her path until every possible route of escape narrowed to nothing.

“And you heard it yourself,” he continued, quieter now, almost tender.

“Alchemists are disappearing. One by one. Vanishing without trace.”

His gaze locked on hers—unblinking, searing.

“Whoever is behind it… they will come for you too. Sooner or later.”

Renata felt the air thin between them. She could smell the faint cedar-and-ink scent that always clung to him after long nights of reading.

Could see the faint scar at the corner of his left eyebrow—the one she had once teased him about, back when he was only the wastrel prince and she was only his exasperated aide.

Now that same scar seemed like a brand.

A mark of everything he had hidden.

Everything he still concealed behind those steady, storm-dark eyes.

He leaned in fractionally closer.

Not touching.

Not yet.

But close enough that she could feel the warmth rolling off him in waves.

Close enough that every shallow breath she took carried the ghost of his.

“You’re not safe out there alone,” he murmured.

“Not anymore.”

The unspoken promise hung heavy in the silence that followed:

Stay.