Page 50 of Throne Off Course

His demeanor felt lighter.

And, of course—people noticed.

The headlines started almost immediately:

“A New Era? Crown Prince Loosens Up in Latest Appearance.”

“The Ice Prince Thaws? Alexander’s Secretly a Sword-Wielding Heartthrob!”

“Hot Prince Summer: Why We’re Loving Alexander’s New Attitude.”

The real catalyst had come three days earlier, when Emilia had somehow convinced him to appear on her podcast.

“The Past Imperfect”had earned its reputation through Emilia’s fearless excavations of forgotten—or deliberately buried—royal histories. Her in-depth interviews and meticulous research had built a dedicated following of history enthusiasts, academics, and people drawn to her knack foruncovering the humanity behind the crown.

Not the kind of platform that typically hosted sitting royalty.

“I’m really not sure this is a good idea,” Alexander had said, eyeing the microphone setup with suspicion.

Emilia rolled her eyes. “You’ve addressed Parliament and negotiated with hostile foreign dignitaries, but my little history podcast intimidates you?”

“Parliament doesn’t have a comments section.” He paused. “And they don’t typically ask about royal scandals involving ancestral duels and political intrigue.”

Despite his initial reluctance, once they’d begun the interview, Alexander had loosened up considerably. Their easy chemistry had helped him come across as, well, charming—something his handlers had been trying to engineer for years.

When the episode aired, the response was immediate and overwhelming.

“Did anyone else just fall completely in love with Prince Alexander???” became the top comment.

“Who knew the Ice Prince was actually FUNNY?” wrote another listener.

“Emilia Carter somehow got more personality out of him in 45 minutes than every royal correspondent has in a decade. I’m officially obsessed.”

The hashtag #PastImperfect trended for days, closely followed by #HotPrinceAlexander.

The numbers were undeniable. Polling showed a dramatic shift in Alexander’s public perception. Overnight, he had gone from the serious, duty-bound future king to the unexpectedly charming, sharp-witted, slightly intimidating but kind of irresistible prince.

His approval ratings had skyrocketed.

For the Palace PR team—who had spent years trying (and failing) to make him seem “approachable”—this was a miracle.

They wasted no time. Within forty-eight hours, Elizabeth Harrington, the Palace Communications Director, had booked him for three carefully selected interviews. Not the usual stuffy political roundtables or formal royal correspondents, but shows with wider appeal where his newfound charm could shine.

“You want me to go on ‘Morning Coffee’?” Alexander asked during their strategy meeting, glancing at the schedule in disbelief. “Isn’t that where celebrities go to play ridiculous games and talk about their favorite breakfast foods?”

Elizabeth nodded, looking entirely too pleased with herself. “Precisely. And they’ve already agreed not to have you participate in any of the physical challenges.” She paused. “Though they did ask if you’d be willing to discuss your fencing background.”

Alexander sighed. “Of course they did.”

The “Morning Coffee” interview went viral within hours, particularly the segment where Alexander deadpanned his way through a rapid-fire questionnaire about royal life, managing to be both dignified and unexpectedly funny.

The “Capital Review” was next—a more serious program, but one that allowed him to showcase his knowledge of policy alongside his dry wit. The host, James Thornton, had always been fair but never particularly warm toward the monarchy.

“I must say, Your Highness,” Thornton remarked toward the end of their conversation, “there’s something in your approach lately that reminds me of your father in his early days. King James Philip had that same blend of authority and accessibilitythat people responded to.”

Alexander stilled for a moment, caught off guard by the comparison.

“That’s… generous of you to say,” he replied carefully.