GUARDING THE HEIR

CHAPTER 1: THE PACT AND THE SHADOW

BOUN'S POV

The night air carries the scent of frangipani and expensive perfume, sharp and sweet all at once. My fingers brush the holster at my hip on instinct, even though I know there's no immediate threat here-not yet. At twenty-eight, I've spent half my life training for moments exactly like this: standing on the edge of a glittering crowd, watching over someone who doesn't even realize how much danger circles people like them.

My family has served the Premawong clan for three generations. It started with my grandfather, who fought beside Prem's grandfather in the mountains decades ago, when the country was torn by unrest. They made a promise then, huddled in a makeshift shelter with rain pouring through the roof: As long as our blood runs, yours will never be unprotected. And one day, our families will be one.

That "one day" is tonight.

"Your grandfather's final instruction was explicit," Khun Niran, Prem's father, had told me two days prior, his office lined with portraits of stern-faced ancestors. He looked tired, like the weight of tradition had been pressing down on him for too long. "The engagement must be made official at the anniversary gala. Until the wedding, you will serve as his personal bodyguard-no exceptions. You go where he goes, you watch over him, and you stand by his side. Not just as a protector. But as his intended."

I'd nodded, said nothing. What was there to say? I'd been prepared for this my whole life. Every drill, every deployment, every lesson in protocol and silence-it all led here.

But nothing prepared me for him.

I spot Prem near the marble fountain, surrounded by a group of loud, laughing friends. He's wearing a deep emerald silk shirt unbuttoned just enough to show the thin silver chain around his neck, tailored trousers that hang perfectly on his frame, his dark hair falling over eyes that look bored and sharp all at once. He tosses pieces of dessert bread into the koi pond so hard the water splashes, and when someone says something to him, he laughs-a bright, reckless sound that cuts through the hum of polite conversation.

When his gaze locks with mine, his smile vanishes. He rolls his eyes so hard it's visible even from this distance, then flips me off behind his back before turning away like I'm nothing more than a stray dog wandering onto his property.

Teer, my second-in-command and oldest friend, huffs a quiet laugh beside me. "He's in rare form tonight. You sure you're ready for this, Khun Boun? Everyone knows he's made it his mission to scare off anyone even remotely connected to this arrangement."

"I've faced worse than a spoiled boy with an attitude," I say, but my chest feels tight. I've known Prem since we were children. I remember scraped knees and stolen mangoes from the orchard, before everything became titles and expectations and promises made by dead men. Back then he'd followed me around like a shadow, wide-eyed and eager. Now he looks at me like I'm a cage he's being locked into.

"Worse, maybe," Teer says quietly. "But never anything that gets under your skin like he does."

I don't answer. I watch as Prem downs a glass of champagne in one go, then grabs another, his shoulders set like he's preparing for a fight. I know he's angry-angry at his grandfather, angry at his parents, angriest of all that he never got a choice. But he doesn't know I didn't get one either.



PREM'S POV

The champagne tastes like nothing. Just cold, bitter fizz that does nothing to drown out the voice in my head screaming how unfair this all is.

Marry Boun. Unite the families. Honor the pact.

As if I'm some antique vase or a business contract to be signed over without asking what I want. As if my life isn't mine to live.

I glance over again, and he's still there-standing straight as a pillar, broad shoulders filling out his dark tailored suit, face like carved stone. Perfect, unshakeable Boun. The boy everyone praised, the man everyone respects. The one who was always told he was lucky to serve us, while I was always told I was lucky to be worth serving.

"Ugh, stop staring at him, Prem," Fai, my best friend since high school, nudges my arm. "People are watching."

"Let them watch," I mutter, tossing another piece of bread into the water. "Let them see what a joke this is. He's here to babysit me now. My own fiancé, hired to make sure I don't break anything before the wedding."

"He's not hired, Prem. This was his family's promise too."

"Promise my ass. It's just another way for my grandfather to control me from the grave. Make me 'respectable' by tying me to someone who does everything right while I do everything wrong." My throat burns, and I look away so Fai won't see how much it hurts. "Everyone thinks I'm just a rich, spoiled brat who doesn't appreciate anything. Well... maybe I'll show them exactly what they expect."

I set my glass down with a sharp clink and march straight toward him. Heads turn, whispers ripple through the crowd, but I don't care. I stop right in front of him, close enough to smell his cologne-cedar and something sharp, like rain on stone-and tilt my chin up.

"Fiancé," I say, loud enough for the nearby guests to hear clearly. "Are you going to follow me to the bathroom too? Or do you save that level of stalking for the honeymoon?"

His jaw tightens, the muscle feathering beneath his skin, but his voice stays steady-calm, infuriatingly calm. "I go where you go, Khun Prem. Until the wedding, and after. That is the agreement."

"Right. The agreement between two old men who thought they owned us." I step closer, my chest almost brushing his, and my heart races stupidly, traitorously fast. "Well, I'm telling you now. I don't want this. I don't want you. And I'm going to make sure you regret ever saying yes to this stupid deal."

For a heartbeat, something flickers in his dark eyes-something soft, almost hurt-and then it's gone, replaced by that same unreadable mask. "Do what you must," he says quietly. "But I will do my duty. Even if you make it as hard as you possibly can."

"Duty," I scoff, stepping back. "That's all you ever think about, isn't it? Not me. Never me. Just rules and orders and what other people want."

I turn on my heel and storm off before he can reply, my shoes clicking loudly on the marble floor. I don't look back, but I know he's following-slow, steady, never too close, never too far. A shadow I can't shake.

I make it to the far end of the garden, near the old stone wall where the lights don't reach, and lean against it, my hands shaking. Why does it feel like I'm fighting him just to keep from feeling something else? Why does the thought of him leaving make my chest ache more than the thought of him staying?

"Khun Prem?"

I jump, then scowl when I see who it is-Wasu, the heir to a rival hotel chain, who's been circling me for months like a shark. "What do you want?"

"Just checking on you. Saw you arguing with your... guard." He smirks, taking a step closer. "Or is he your fiancé now? Everyone's talking about it. Poor little Premawong, stuck with a glorified bodyguard instead of someone who actually knows how to spoil you properly."

"Watch your mouth," I snap, but he just laughs.

"Or what? You'll call your attack dog? I bet he's only doing this for the money and the status anyway. Why else would someone like him agree to be tied to a brat like you?"

Before I can even react, there's movement behind me. One second Wasu is sneering, the next he's stumbling back, Boun standing between us, his hand wrapped loosely around Wasu's wrist-not hard enough to hurt, but enough to make his point clear.

"Apologize," Boun says, his voice low and dangerous, nothing like the calm tone he used with me.

"Who do you think you are-"

"I am the one standing beside him," Boun cuts him off, and there's no room for argument. "And you will speak of him with respect. Or you will leave this property before I decide you are a threat to his safety."

Wasu glares, yanks his arm free, and storms off, muttering curses under his breath. The space goes quiet again, only the sound of crickets and distant music.

Boun turns to me, his expression softening just a little. "Are you hurt?"

I stare at him. For a second I want to yell, to ask why he cares, why he's even here, why he acts like he'd burn the world down for me one minute and treat me like a job the next. Instead I just turn away, my voice rough.

"I don't need you to fight my battles for me."

"I know," he says quietly. "But I will anyway."

I don't answer. I start walking toward the stairs that lead up to the roof, the place I go when I can't stand being around everyone anymore. I expect him to follow, but when I glance back, he's standing still for a moment, watching me go, before he quietly falls into step a few paces behind-just close enough to see me, just far enough to let me pretend I'm alone.



PREM'S POV

The roof is cool and quiet, the city lights stretching out below like scattered stars. I sit on the edge, legs dangling over the side, and stare out at the skyline. I've spent my whole life in houses like this, surrounded by people who smile to my face and whisper behind my back. They say I'm spoiled, selfish, that I don't know the value of anything because I've never had to work for it. Maybe they're right. But no one ever asks what it's like to have every choice made for you before you're even old enough to speak.

I hear the door open behind me, and I don't turn around. "I told you I don't need you following me everywhere."

"I'm not following you," Boun says, his voice carrying easily on the breeze. "I'm standing guard. If you fall, or if someone comes up here... I need to be there."

"I'm not going to fall."

"I know."

A long silence stretches between us. Then he sits down on the ledge a few feet away-close enough to talk, far enough not to crowd me. I glance at him, and for the first time all night, I see him without his guard up. His shoulders are tense, his hands folded tight in his lap, like he's fighting the urge to reach out or run away.

"Did you ever have a choice?" I ask suddenly.

He looks at me, surprised. "What?"

"About this. About me."

He hesitates, then looks back out at the city. "My grandfather told me about the pact when I was twelve. Said it was the greatest honor our family could ever receive. To protect you, to stand with you... to become family. I was raised to believe this was what I was meant for."

"That's not what I asked."

He's quiet for a long time. "No. I didn't have a choice. But Prem... even if I did... I don't know if I would have chosen differently."

My heart stutters. I stare at him, but he won't meet my eyes. "Why? Because I'm some prize you're supposed to win? Because it's your duty?"

He turns to me then, and his gaze is steady, intense, like he's seeing right through all my anger and bravado. "Because you're not just a duty to me. You never have been. Even when you're yelling at me, even when you're acting like the worst version of yourself... you're still the boy I used to share my lunch with when no one was looking. The boy who gave me his favorite toy because he saw I didn't have any."

I feel my throat tighten. I'd forgotten that. I'd forgotten so many things. "I hate you for this," I whisper, but it comes out broken, not angry. "I hate that you make me feel like I'm the only one who's losing something here."

"I know," he says softly. "And I hate that I'm the reason you're hurting."

He reaches out, like he wants to touch my hand, then pulls back like he's remembering I told him I didn't want this. "I'll give you space," he says, standing up. "I'll be right outside the door if you need me. Or if you want me to leave... I will."

For a second I almost say it. Almost tell him to stay. But pride and fear and years of pretending I don't care wrap around my throat, and I just nod.

He walks away, and the door clicks shut behind him. I sit there for a long time, watching the lights flicker and fade, wondering how something that started as a promise between two old men could turn into a war between us-and why it feels like I'm already losing before it's even begun.