Alexander shook his head and kept going, adopting the tone of a man who’d long since accepted his fate.
“‘Why does King Alexander always look like he’s about to apologize for existing? Sir, you literally own castles.’”
“See, that one’s almost nice,” Enzo pointed out.
“The roast requires contrast,” Sebastian explained. “Otherwise it’s just cruelty.”
“Five out of ten,” Lukas said. “Too kind for proper humiliation.”
Alexander continued through increasingly creative insults about his hair, his formal speaking voice, his tendency to overdress for casual events, and one particularly creative thread about how he probably apologizes to automatic doors.
“Okay, last one,” Alexander said, scrolling to Sebastian’s final selection.
“‘King Alexander looks like he practices his signature in case someone asks for an autograph but is too polite to actually give one unless specifically requested.’”
The laughter died as everyone realized how accurate that probably was.
“Do you?” Sebastian asked quietly.
Alexander hesitated, his usual composure flickering for a moment. “Sometimes.”
The admission hung in the air for a moment—honest, vulnerable, and suddenly not funny at all.
Sebastian looked at his half-brother—really looked at him—and felt something shift. Alexander wasn’t just the king, or even just the brother who’d had everything Sebastian was denied. He was a man who practiced signatures he was too modest to give and got roasted on the internet for being wholesome.
“For what it’s worth,” Sebastian said, his voice softer than usual, “they’re wrong about the apologizing for existing thing.”
Alexander looked surprised. “Yeah?”
“Yeah. You’re not. You’re just…” Sebastian paused, finding the words. “You’re trying to be worthy of it. Of all of it. Which is different.”
“That’s either very profound or complete bullshit,” Ethan observed.
“Both,” Sebastian confirmed. “But mostly profound.”
Alexander smiled—genuine, warm, and grateful. “Thanks, Seb.” It was the first time he’d used that nickname in years.
“Don’t mention it,” Sebastian said lightly, then cleared his throat and straightened up, his usual theatrical energy returning. “Right then. Now that we’ve had our heartwarming moment and I’ve officially gone soft—”
“Temporarily,” Ethan interjected.
“Temporarily soft,” Sebastian agreed, “let’s not forget our supporting cast deserves equal humiliation.”
He reached over and plucked the phone from Alexander’s hand with a flourish.
“Ethan Klein, everyone’s favorite cautionary tale. Here we go.”
He read the first tweet with unholy glee.
“He looks like he’s got seventeen different cryptocurrency wallets and has forgotten the password to all of them.”
Ethan laughed. “Well, not all of them.”
“Six out of ten,” Lukas announced. “Self-awareness is endearing but not hilarious.”
Sebastian grinned. “Let’s fix that.”
“This man has definitely caused a city-wide power outage because he tried to mine Bitcoin on his smart fridge.”