Whitehall Palace, 1611

Trust is a dangerous thing.

For years, I have lived behind a mask—pretending, calculating, ensuring no one sees the truth beneath my skin. But now, for the first time, there is someone who looks at me not as a prince, not as a tool of the court, but simply as another boy.

Harry.

A servant’s child, he moves through the palace with a freedom I envy. He is quick with his hands, quicker with his words, and unlike the nobles who circle my father’s court, he does not measure every sentence before speaking.

In him, I see something I have never had.

A friend.

But even friendship is a risk in a world where secrets are currency, and trust can be a blade.

The Hidden Passage

It begins with a whisper.

One afternoon, as I sit in the nursery, pretending to be entertained by wooden blocks, I hear footsteps—quick, deliberate. Before I can turn, a voice hisses, “Get up.”

I do.

Harry stands in the doorway, glancing over his shoulder before waving me forward. “No one’s watching. Come.”

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I hesitate. The nursemaids are gone, likely tending to my younger siblings. It is rare that I am left alone, even rarer that someone dares to approach me without permission.

Still, I follow.

He leads me through the corridors, past the great hall and toward the servants’ quarters, where the air smells of freshly baked bread and damp stone. The walls narrow, the grandeur of the palace fading into something rougher, less polished.

Then, he stops before a wooden panel.

With a swift motion, he presses against it, and the wood shifts inward, revealing a passageway no nobleman would ever notice.

I glance at him.

He grins. “I told you. You aren’t the only one with secrets.”

A Prince in the Shadows

The tunnel is narrow, barely wide enough for us to walk side by side. Cobwebs cling to the ceiling, dust coats the stone floor.

“How did you find this?” I ask.

Harry shrugs. “My father’s a steward. He knows the palace better than the king himself. Told me there are places the nobles never see. I figured you’d want to see them.”

He isn’t wrong.

For the first time, I feel something other than the weight of my title. Here, in the hidden depths of Whitehall, I am not a prince. I am just a boy.

We spend hours exploring. He shows me where the tunnels lead—how one passage opens into the kitchens, how another snakes beneath the throne room.

It is knowledge that could be dangerous in the wrong hands.

And yet, I do not fear Harry.

For some reason, I trust him.

A Game of Power

The next day, when we return to the nursery, I test him.

I place a wooden pawn from a chess set in his hand. “This is you,” I say.

Harry raises an eyebrow. “A pawn? That’s dull.”

I smirk. “A pawn can become a queen if it reaches the other side of the board.”

He tilts his head, considering. “And you?”

I pick up the king piece. “I have to stay standing. No matter what.”

He rolls the pawn between his fingers. “Then I suppose I’ll have to help you reach the other side.”

I study him, searching for deception. I find none.

Perhaps, in this world of power and deception, I have found something real.

The Cost of Friendship

But nothing in Whitehall remains a secret for long.

One evening, as I return to my chambers, I hear voices beyond the door.

“The prince has taken interest in a boy from the servant’s quarters,” a man murmurs.

Robert Cecil.

A chill runs through me.

The king sighs. “It is harmless.”

“No, Your Majesty. It is… curious.” A pause. “You have seen how the boy behaves. He is not like others his age.”

Silence. Then, my father’s voice, lower, thoughtful. “You believe they are connected?”

“I believe a prince should not lower himself to shadows.”

I step back, heart pounding.

Harry is in danger.

A Choice to Make

That night, I lie awake, staring at the canopy above my bed.

A question lingers in my mind.

Do I push Harry away to protect him?

Or do I hold on to the one person who sees me for who I truly am?

The court is watching.

And soon, I will have to decide whether friendship is worth the price.

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