Phillipe von Triesenberg was never one to hide anything. Neither his crown nor his escapades. Especially the latter. He basked in the glory of his conquests, counting them like trophies, and in the corridors of Las Encinas, there were more rumors about his love life than about the cancellation of classes before the holidays. Women lay at his feet—or at least that was the story he told himself.

And then they came along.

New student. Quiet. Serious. The kind of look that pierced you, as if they knew things you didn't even dare to think. Phillipe had hardly noticed them until they sat down next to him in Spanish class – and said nothing. No submissive smile, no excited whispering, none of the usual nervousness Phillipe was used to. They were just there.

At first it was just curiosity. Then frustration. Then – something else.

Phillipe found himself watching them more and more often during breaks. How they brushed a lock of hair from their forehead while reading. How they laughed when they thought no one could hear them. How their voice sounded when they swore in Spanish.

And then one late afternoon, as Phillipe floated in the empty swimming pool and thought about their smile, the realization hit him like a blow to the chest: it wasn't a game. It wasn't testosterone-driven attraction. It was... real desire.

He, Prince Phillipe von Triesenberg, womanizer and playboy by conviction, had a crush on a boy.

And he had no idea what the hell to do about it.