EPISODE 1

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SCENE 1 : 

THE FALL OF THE PRINCE, THE BEGINNING OF A BROKEN DESTINY

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La nuit aurait dû être légère, presque douce, une parenthèse où Wilhelm pourrait enfin respirer loin des attentes et des regards. Au milieu des rires, des lumières et de cette foule qui se croit libre, il tente lui aussi de s’abandonner à l’instant. Mais même entouré de monde, il se sent terriblement seul, comme si quelque chose en lui ne trouvait jamais vraiment sa place.

Et puis, d’un coup, tout se fissure. Un échange tendu, un geste trop brusque, un instant où ses nerfs lâchent, et son monde chavire. Le coup part, le flash le capture, et en une fraction de seconde, il comprend que son erreur va lui coûter bien plus qu’un simple moment d’égarement. La photo circule déjà, implacable, et avec elle la certitude que rien ne pourra stopper l’inévitable avalanche de jugement.

Alors il fuit, presque sans réfléchir, jusqu’aux toilettes où il tente désespérément de reprendre son souffle. Là, seul face au miroir, les mains tremblantes, il lutte contre cette angoisse qui le dévore depuis des années, la peur de décevoir, de briser l’image impeccable qu’on exige de lui, d’être encore une fois le problème qu’il faut corriger. Dans cet espace étroit et silencieux, il n’est plus un prince : juste un garçon dépassé, épuisé, à bout de forces.

Mais un coup à la porte lui rappel la brutale de sa réalité. La secrétaire de la garde royale n’a pas besoin de parler fort pour lui rappeler que sa vie ne lui appartient pas vraiment. Elle lui annonce, sans douceur, la marche à suivre, le discours qu’il devra réciter, les mots soigneusement choisis pour réparer les apparences, pas son cœur, pas sa peine, seulement l’image de la monarchie.

Et lorsqu’on lui annonce qu’il sera envoyé à Hillerska, le pensionnat que sa famille érige en modèle depuis des générations, une autre forme de vertige le saisit. Ce n’est pas seulement une punition : c’est un exil, un rappel cruel qu’il n’a jamais eu le droit de choisir sa propre vie. Il tente de protester, de se tourner vers sa mère, espérant qu’elle comprendra au moins un peu la détresse qui l’étouffe. Mais elle ne voit que le prince, jamais le fils. Pour elle, son mal-être n’est qu’un écart, un bruit inutile dans la mécanique parfaite de la couronne.

« Je veux juste une vie normale… » murmure-t-il, une dernière fois, presque dans un souffle. Mais ses mots se brisent contre l’indifférence polie de la reine, qui lui répète qu’être prince est un privilège pas une punition. Pour Wilhelm, c’est une cage dorée qui se referme un peu plus.

Alors on le maquille, on couvre les traces de la nuit, on ajuste son costume. Chaque geste efface un peu plus celui qu’il est, pour reconstruire celui qu’on attend de lui. Et devant les caméras, il récite les excuses qu’il n’a pas écrites, la gorge serrée, les épaules lourdes. Sa famille le regarde avec froideur, comme s’il n’était qu’un symbole à remettre en place, pas un adolescent en train de s’effondrer.

Ce soir-là, Wilhelm comprend que dans son univers, être soi-même est un luxe inaccessible.
Mais, sans encore le savoir, c’est précisément au moment où tout s’écroule… que quelque chose de nouveau commence à se construire.
Et que Hillerska, ce lieu qu’il redoute tant, va devenir le théâtre du plus bouleversant chapitre de sa vie.

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SCENE 2 : 

THE ARRIVAL AT HILLERSKA, FIRST STEPS, FIRST DOUBTS, FIRST SPARK

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At Hillerska, everything seems to unfold as if in a world apart, timed to the second. The oars cutting through the water at dawn, the hooves echoing in the stables, the impeccable uniforms, the steady gazes… Here, every gesture is controlled, every step watched. And that morning, this perfectly oiled machinery stirs with an unusual fervor: the princes are arriving.

Erik, the eldest, leads the way with his natural confidence. At the wheel of his gleaming convertible, he drives through the countryside as if returning to his own land. Beside him, Wilhelm sinks into his seat, watching the landscape pass by without truly seeing it. He already feels that familiar weight settling over him, that of lineage, of inheritance, of a role no one ever asked him if he truly wanted to take on.

Upon their arrival, the headmistress welcomes them with almost military precision. At her side, August, their cousin, wears that self-satisfied smile Wilhelm knows all too well. Always too sure of himself, always too aware of his rank. Wilhelm has never liked the way August occupies space, as if he were born to be admired.

When Alexander, an intimidated student, steps forward to carry his luggage, an order from August, of course, Wilhelm stiffens. He hates this staging, this servility disguised as protocol. But Erik quietly tells him to let it be, because “that’s how it is here.” So Wilhelm stays silent. Once again. Once too many.

Barely has he time to breathe before the photographers seize him. They turn him, frame him, adjust him. They want to prove to the country that he is well-behaved, cooperative, worthy. Erik and August play their roles with ease, exchanging perfectly calibrated embraces and smiles. Wilhelm, however, feels like an accessory placed in front of the lens. He smiles, mechanically, but his gaze betrays his fatigue, that deep weariness of never truly being himself.

It is the teachers’ turn, to smile politely, to shake hands that expect only one thing, to be seen.
Then come the photos. Again. Always.
The headmistress stands beside him, adjusting her posture with the habit of those who live for appearances. The flashes crackle as if to officially seal this arranged version of reality: the one where Wilhelm would be delighted to be here, happy to approve a decision he never actually made. He obeys. Because he must. Because everyone is watching him.
But every movement, every forced smile, betrays a silent sigh.
He stands straight, motionless, frozen like a puppet placed where it needs to be, when it needs to be.
His gaze, however, tells another story: that of a boy who feels torn from himself, displayed as a symbol rather than listened to as a human being.

And while the cameras immortalize this moment, Wilhelm feels himself becoming even more trapped in a role he never wanted to play.

Then comes the time for the official welcome in the church. As soon as he crosses the threshold, Wilhelm feels the gazes fall upon him, heavy as stones. Murmurs run through the pews and the air seems to tighten around him. He moves forward, short of breath, trying not to show the whirlwind of anxiety rising inside him.

The choir enters. And there, among the impeccable uniforms, a familiar face appears: Felice. A childhood friend, a gentle memory in this cold universe. She gives him a discreet, almost tender sign. A small soothing light in this sea of strangers.

But it is another presence that will change everything.

A voice rises. At first hesitant, fragile. Simon’s. He looks nervous, perhaps too aware of the eyes fixed on him. When a student puts him down, Simon straightens despite the irritation, and his voice grows stronger. And it is at that moment that Wilhelm turns his head. He does not know why. Perhaps a simple instinct. Perhaps something else.

The song echoes through the church, filled with a simple but real emotion, almost raw. The words seem to slip into Wilhelm’s mind, touching something within him he thought was extinguished.
“I ask nothing of you, not even your gratitude…”

And suddenly, something changes.
The space around him feels less oppressive.
The world stops judging him for a second.
Only that voice remains, precise, vibrant, terribly sincere.

Wilhelm feels his shoulders relax slightly.
A breath escapes him.
His eyes soften.
And a smile, discreet but real, finally forms on his face.

Because, in the middle of a world where everything feels cold, controlled, false… something real has just reached him.
A spark is born, almost despite himself. Fragile. Luminous.
A beginning he does not yet understand, but that already makes his heart beat a little differently.

And without knowing it, this song, this voice, this boy have just forever changed the course of his destiny.

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SCENE 3 : 

FIRST STEPS IN A GILDED PRISON

 

As soon as he leaves the church, Wilhelm is once again swept up by the frenzy of cameras. The flashes burst like small detonations against his skin, each light brutally reminding him that he has no space to breathe. He smiles because he is asked to, not because he wants to. And under these insatiable spotlights, his heart tightens a little more.

Erik sees it. He recognizes that tension in his shoulders, that way Wilhelm holds his breath. So, in an almost brotherly, almost rebellious impulse, he whispers in his ear: “Come on. Let’s get out of here.”

And without waiting, they run off at full speed, running like two children inventing an adventure in the forbidden corridors of a castle. For a few seconds, the whole world disappears. No more photographers, no more etiquette, no more crushing duties. Only the wind, their laughter, and the fleeting illusion that everything could be simple.

But reality is always waiting.

While the two princes allow themselves this moment of freedom, August, elsewhere in the boarding school, is already preparing his schemes. Surrounded by Vincent and Nils, he proudly presents his grand plan: to organize an “unforgettable” party for the prince. A party that will require illegally bringing alcohol into the school.
And for that, he needs someone who is not locked within the walls of Hillerska: an outsider. A pawn to use.
A plan that already smells of disaster, but August is far too eager for recognition to see it.

While others are plotting, Wilhelm finally discovers his room. A simple, small, almost minimalist space… but it is his. For the first time since his arrival, he feels a tiny breath of fresh air open in his world saturated with expectations. He will not have to share it, a rare privilege here, where even Erik once lived with three roommates.

But this respite is fragile.
“I won’t last three years here…,” he murmurs with painful weariness.
Erik then tries to pass on the school’s unspoken code: a booklet written by the third-year students.
The real power. The real rules. And behind each of them… August.

Wilhelm feels anger rising. The very idea of having to follow the orders of a cousin he despises burns inside him. He refuses this game of domination, refuses to be a pawn subjected to the whims of others. He wants a space where he can exist as a person, not as a title.

But Erik tries to remind him, one last time, of the weight of their name:
“You have to represent the family. Even when it’s hard. No matter what you feel.”

A knock at the door cuts them short. Protocol is already calling Erik away, like an invisible hand pulling him away from his brother. He does not even need to answer: they both know what it means.
He has to leave. So Wilhelm holds his brother very tightly, as if trying to keep him.

Before leaving, Erik gives him a bittersweet smile, a kind of silent promise he wishes he could keep. Then the door closes behind him.

And silence falls.

A heavy, suffocating silence. A silence that feels like a goodbye.
Wilhelm remains alone in this unfamiliar corridor, in this life that has been chosen for him.
He feels abandonment, anxiety, a shadow of fear.
He wonders how to survive in a world where nothing seems to belong to him.

And for the first time since his arrival…
he wonders if he will have the strength to endure.

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SCENE 4 : A TENSE ENCOUNTER: THE WOLF FACES THE FREE BOY

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The day is coming to an end, and Simon walks across the Hillerska courtyard with his usual calm. He is about to go home, back to that simple, real world he shares with his family. Being a day student means living between two realities: the rigid one of Hillerska… and the warm one of his home. Two worlds that never truly meet, except today.

He has barely taken a few steps when August appears behind him like a sudden gust. It feels like he is chasing more than just a student: he is chasing control, influence, his need to exist in the eyes of others. He stops in front of Simon, blocks his way, and offers a smile too polite to be sincere. Then he extends his hand, introduces himself, as if they had never shared a single hallway.

Simon looks at him, eyebrows slightly furrowed. And with one sentence, he shatters the façade:

“We’ve been in the same school for a month.”

A simple reminder, but it lands like a truth August did not expect. And in the royal cousin’s eyes, something falters. For the first time, he understands that Simon is not a pawn to be placed on a golden chessboard.

August shifts his approach. His smile becomes thinner, more dangerous. He offers a deal, wrapped in false camaraderie: to smuggle illegal alcohol into the boarding school. As if it were normal. As if being a day student automatically made Simon a smuggler. As if August already knew how to get what he wanted.

But Simon does not lower his gaze. He stands firm, steady, with that quiet dignity that unsettles those who live too high to see the ground. “Because all day students are traffickers?”

His voice does not shake. It does not rise either. It simply exists, strong and fair. And in the silence that follows, August finds himself facing something he cannot control: sincerity, integrity, honesty.

To mask his discomfort, he adds a promise, a clumsy attempt to regain power:
if Simon agrees, he will be allowed to come to the party.

As if that invitation held any value for someone who does not need to please at all costs.

Simon looks at him one last time, then simply turns away. Without anger, without provocation. Just that silent refusal that cuts deeper than a shout. August watches him leave, and for the first time, he understands:
this boy cannot be bought with privileges. This boy cannot be manipulated with smiles. This boy does not play by the rules of the powerful.

And perhaps that is exactly what will make Simon… the grain of sand that will forever disrupt the perfect machinery of Hillerska. The free boy who unsettles the wolf.

 

SCENE 5

THE HORSE, THE COURAGE, AND THE BRUTAL FRAGILITY OF HUMANS

In the Hillerska stables, the smell of hay and leather lingers like a soothing blanket, but Felice, perched on her horse, cannot surrender to it. Her hands tremble slightly on the reins, and despite all her efforts to hide her fear, the animal senses it immediately. It paws, grows restless, refuses to move forward. Every sudden motion echoes in Felice’s chest, feeding a vicious cycle she can no longer control.

The instructor eventually sighs and calls for help. A figure steps forward: Sara, Simon’s sister, almost invisible among the other students yet strangely confident the moment she crosses into the space of the horses. It only takes a few seconds for the scene to completely shift. The horse, tense and rigid with Felice, lowers its head slightly when Sara places a calm hand on its coat. She whispers a few words, barely audible, and the animal relaxes as if it has finally found the only person capable of listening to it.

Felice watches, frozen between surprise and shame. How does this girl she barely knows manage, without any apparent effort, to create a harmony that has eluded her for years? The heat rises in her cheeks, and before she can contain it, she rushes to take back control, or at least give the illusion of it. In a sharp, almost cutting voice, she says:

“It’s my horse. I can take care of its grooming… and its care.”

A tone that snaps louder than she intends, as if Sara had crossed an invisible boundary.

That is when Simon arrives, just in time to catch the exchange. His expression hardens instantly; protecting his sister is an instinctive, almost visceral reaction. Memories of their old school, and everything she endured there, immediately resurface.

“Hey, be careful. She doesn’t get to talk to you like that,” he says, ready to step in.

But Sara seems neither hurt nor angry. She simply shrugs. Felice’s remark slides off her, absorbed by something far more important: the horse. With animals, she does not need to decode intentions or guess what others think of her. Horses do not lie. They do not judge. With them, she can finally breathe.

Simon steps closer, softens his tone, and places a comforting hand on her shoulder.

“If anything happens… you come see me, okay? I’ll handle it.”

Sara nods, a faint smile lighting up her face. Despite the harshness of the boarding school, despite the games of appearances and social rivalries, there remains that unbreakable bond between them, that island of truth where they can find each other without masks, without violence, without feeling like they have to become someone else.

And while around them, Hillerska continues to play its perfect role, Simon and Sara move forward at their own pace, with their strengths, their flaws… and that connection that withstands everything.

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SCENE 6

THE RETURN TO ORDINARY LIFE

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The bus arrives with a long metallic screech, just as it does every day, reliable and a little worn, yet always ready to take Simon and Sara back to their real life. They climb aboard and sit side by side, immediately rediscovering a sense of lightness they had been missing since leaving Hillerska. Here, no one watches them. No one measures their worth based on a name, a uniform, or a supposed lineage.

As soon as they sit down, Sara pulls out her phone and opens the camera. Within seconds, they start taking selfies, making faces, stifling laughter. It’s their ritual, the silent proof that they remain close, that they can still be themselves in a world that sometimes tries to pull them in opposite directions.

The bus continues its route, and when it stops again, two familiar figures climb aboard: Ayub and Rosh, Simon’s best friends. The atmosphere instantly shifts. Greetings, light pats on the shoulder, knowing smiles… everything falls back into place as if none of them had left the neighborhood that morning.

Very quickly, Ayub notices Simon’s impeccable uniform.
— Is that mandatory?
Simon laughs, a hint of embarrassment in his voice, and explains that yes, just for today, because a new student has arrived… Prince Wilhelm.

At these words, Rosh lifts his head, already alert. His phone appears almost magically in his hand.
— The prince? Wait, have you seen the video? The one where he’s fighting in a club? It’s everywhere.

A few swipes are enough to find the famous viral clip. The four of them lean in around the screen, pressed close together, as always. In the video, Wilhelm is unrecognizable: raw anger, uncontrolled movements, an explosion captured in a few seconds.

Sara first watches the screen, puzzled, as if trying to understand what could have caused such a breakdown. Simon, on the other hand, watches longer than he would admit. He observes, analyzes, holds his breath without knowing why.

The bus keeps moving, gently rocking them along with its jolts. In that precise moment, nothing seems extraordinary: just four friends, a viral video, an unknown prince. And yet… something is already in motion, something Simon cannot yet name.

Without knowing it, he has just seen, in that pixelated blur, the person who will change the entire course of his life.

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SCENE 7

FELICE’S SILENT DREAMS

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The room is bathed in a soft light, the kind that comes in the evening, softening the edges but sharpening the thoughts. Sitting on her bed, Felice holds her phone as if it were a precious secret. On the screen glows Wilhelm’s face. Not simply the prince of Sweden… but the one she has idealized since childhood. The one she hopes, one day, will look at her as more than just a polite presence.

She takes a deep breath, as if trying to contain the emotion swelling in her chest. She knows it’s absurd, that nothing guarantees he will ever notice her, but she cannot silence that hope that both holds her up and makes her fragile.

Suddenly, the bathroom door opens, releasing a cloud of scented steam. Maddie appears, a towel wrapped around her hair, intrigued but amused by her roommate’s posture.

Felice… still looking… ?

The remark is not unkind, but it hits true. Felice startles, locks her screen too quickly, as if she had been caught in the middle of a forbidden dream. I’m not obsessed, she murmurs, not really convincing anyone.

Maddie sits on her bed, legs crossed, her eyes sparkling with a judgment-free honesty.
— You know August would do anything for you. He follows you everywhere, literally. And you, you stay fixated on Wilhelm…
She shakes her head, half amused, half confused.
— I mean… he’s a prince. Royal blood. I guess that must do something. But honestly, I don’t really get it.

Felice lowers her eyes, unable to answer. How can she explain that mix of nostalgia and desire, that need to be seen by the one she has always placed on a pedestal? Maddie sees a prince. Felice sees a dream, almost intimate, too deeply rooted to be dismissed by reason.

— Are you coming down for dinner? Maddie asks after a moment of silence.

Felice shakes her head.
— Not hungry.

When Maddie finally leaves the room, the calm returns. Felice reopens her phone, but this time it’s no longer Wilhelm she looks at. She chooses a photo of herself at the stables, perfect light, controlled smile, and posts it with an enthusiastic caption: “An incredible day”

The lie is beautiful, almost elegant. A way of recreating what she wishes to feel, rather than what she is actually living.

Once the post is sent, Felice remains still, her eyes lost in the screen. For a second, she lets herself be carried away by the illusion of a perfect life. Then the image fades into a silence too heavy, and the loneliness returns, familiar, relentless.

On social media, she seems radiant. In reality, she is just a girl dreaming of being loved by someone who does not see her yet.

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SCENE 8

DINNER WITH THE TASTE OF TRUTH

Evening slowly settles around Simon and Sara’s small house, wrapping the walls in a familiar warmth. In the kitchen, the smell of the meal blends with muffled laughter and the clinking of cutlery, a reminder that, despite the modest surroundings, there is something here the boarding school does not have: a real home. Around the table, Linda watches over her children with a gentle smile, while Ayub, now almost part of the family, naturally takes his place among them.

When Linda asks how their day went, Sara immediately straightens up, as if a switch has just been flipped. She seriously describes how one must behave at the table, how to place the cutlery, how to adopt the perfect posture, repeating the rules learned at Hillerska with surprising precision. Her words, spoken with disarming sincerity, linger in the air for a moment, and they all exchange looks mixed with amusement and concern: Sara wants to do so well that she turns every detail into a ritual.

Then, in a calmer tone, she talks about her day: still no friends, but the horses… the horses do not lie. They do not compare, they do not judge. It is with them that she feels best. She then mentions, almost casually, that she will need new riding pants, the old ones have torn. A simple request that nevertheless opens a much broader discussion than expected: about money, priorities, and the overwhelming difference between their daily life and that of the wealthy Hillerska families, for whom one more purchase is never a question.

Simon, with a slightly too teasing smile, lets slip that she is becoming snobbish. The word cracks like a whip. Sara freezes, her face closes, and before anyone can recover from the awkwardness, she abruptly stands up and leaves the table, hurt more deeply than she can explain.

An unusual silence falls. To lighten the mood, Simon then announces that he, too, has been invited to a party at Hillerska. Immediately, Linda’s eyes light up. For her, this invitation is not trivial: it is proof that her children are finding their place there, that they are carving a path in a world that once seemed unreachable. She rejoices in it with a simple and sincere pride, the kind that sustains families who have never had anything easy.

And in this modest dining room, where the chairs creak as much as hearts open, you can feel life moving forward, fragile but real, carried by a family that is trying, each in their own way, to grow without losing themselves.

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SCENE 9

A DINNER UNDER PRESSURE

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Night slowly settles around Hillerska, wrapping the boarding school in a muted atmosphere that contrasts with the silent tension reigning in the great dining hall. When Wilhelm walks through the doors, he immediately feels the weight of tradition permeating every corner: the austere walls, the long perfectly set table, the students arranged in an order that seems never meant to be disturbed. He moves forward, hesitating, and realizes that in this world, even a simple meal feels like a ceremony.

His gaze lingers for a moment on August, seated at the head of the table as if he had always ruled there. His posture, his overly polite smile, the way he surveys the room with a satisfied glance… everything about him breathes unspoken authority. It is clear: here, he is the one who sets the rules. The one the others follow without question.

Wilhelm takes his seat and tries to ignore the discomfort tightening in his chest. Two boys from his class, sitting just across from him, seize the opportunity to speak to him. Their tone is polite but strangely stiff, almost rehearsed, as if they are trying to recite a script correctly. They describe the habits of the boarding school: the strictly codified meals, the endless assignments, the mandatory sports sessions, and those evenings where everyone behaves as they are expected to rather than as they truly are.

As they speak, Wilhelm notices something that unsettles him: their words never really seem to be their own. They repeat August’s opinions, his rules, his beliefs… as if thinking differently were forbidden. As if existing in another way were a fault.

A quiet unease settles within him. This blind conformity suffocates him more than he wants to admit. He has already spent too much time in a world where every gesture is watched, measured, controlled. Finding the same pressure here, among these young people who should be free, suddenly makes him feel like he cannot breathe.

So, almost in spite of himself, he lets out the words that have been burning on his lips since he walked through the door:

“You know… you have the right to have your own opinions.”

The words echo in the air like an unexpected spark. Conversations stop around the table. A few heads turn, silent surprise. August slowly lifts his eyes, a tight smile fixed on his face.

Wilhelm does not look away.

He has no intention of being trapped in a hierarchy where everyone gives up what they think to please the strongest. He does not want to begin his year by bowing his head or playing a role. Tonight, faced with this dinner where everything already seems decided for him, he chooses to draw his own line.

Even if it means immediately making an enemy of the one who believes he rules Hillerska.

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SCENE 10​​

SIMON’S TOO-BIG HEART​

Simon, sitting in front of his screen, headphones on, tries to mask his restlessness behind the cold glow of a video game. And yet, his mind is elsewhere. He wants to find a way to get to the prince’s initiation party, that party where everyone will be, or almost, where his sister Sarah could finally feel like the others. He wants to give her that moment, that pause where she would no longer be the different girl, but simply a teenager among others.

So, between two games, he asks Ayub if it was indeed his father, Micke, who had supplied the alcohol at his last party. His voice trembles slightly, as if he already knows he is crossing a dangerous line. Simon is only a boy, but he carries the weight of an adult: he watches over his mother, protects Sarah, and tries to fill the absences that have hollowed out their lives.

Ayub sighs, worried. He reminds him that Micke is not a man to be around, that he destroys everything he touches, even his own family. He tells Simon to be careful, not to fall back into that circle that hurts him every time. Because Simon, after seeing his father, always comes back darker, more silent, as if a part of him cracks a little more.

But Simon, with his too-big heart, thinks of others first. He wants Sarah to laugh, to dance, to finally feel accepted. So he hesitates, torn between the danger he knows all too well and the desire to make his sister happy. In the bluish light of his screen, his face tightens, fragile and determined at the same time. And in that suspended moment, we understand that Simon would do anything for those he loves, even at the cost of his own wounds.

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SCENE 11

PRISONER OF HIS OWN DESTINY

 

In the dim light of his room, Wilhelm lies down alone for his first night at Hillerska, his heart tight with a loneliness he dares not admit. Between his fingers trembles a photo taken upon his arrival, where he appears alongside Erik and August. Zooming in on his own face, he reads a sadness he can no longer hide. In a surge of distress, he writes to his mother, almost begging her to let him come home, hoping for a warmth he does not receive. Her reply comes, cold, immediate, like a verdict: it will get better soon. Wilhelm feels his eyes burn. He then looks at the snow globe given by Erik, that little crowned frog imprisoned in its glass sphere. As he looks at it, he suddenly understands that it is him: a prince trapped in a world he did not choose, shaken by storms without ever being able to escape them.

 

SCENE 12

THE INVISIBLE WATCHER

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At dawn, when the boarding school is still asleep, Alexander is already walking through the silent corridors, knocking on doors to wake the others. His step is discreet, almost faded, as if he only existed through this imposed mission. One wonders at what time he himself opens his eyes, to always be the first awake, always ready. Perhaps he never truly sleeps, used to carrying alone a role that no one notices. And in this rigid routine, this protocol he makes sure that all the students get ready and no one thanks him.

 

SCENE 13

THE TRUTH THAT MAYBE SHOULD NOT HAVE BEEN SAID

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The civics classroom is bathed in a pale light, the kind that makes faces look proper and ideas feel comfortable. The first-year students, impeccably seated, discuss serious topics with an almost insolent ease: social benefits, tax evasion, economic justice. Their voices sound alike, their opinions align, as if they all came from the same golden mold. They talk about the world without ever having truly touched it, convinced that their vision is universal.

Simon, on the other hand, listens in silence. He feels his heart beating a little faster with every sentence spoken. He is not like them. He has never been like them. He did not grow up in homes where taxes are something to complain about over a dinner served by someone else. He comes from a modest home, from a life where every crown matters, where social benefits are not a concept but a necessity.

So when the question comes, allowances, subsidies, social justice, Simon can no longer stay silent. His voice rises, clear, vibrant, almost trembling with contained emotion. He asks why aid for the poor is called allowances, and aid for the rich is called subsidies. Why change the word when the action is the same. Why disguise reality to make it more acceptable in the eyes of those who benefit from it.

A silence falls. The other students glance at one another, surprised that a scholarship student dares to break the comfortable harmony of their certainties. Some snicker, others roll their eyes. One of them explains that their fathers pay too much in taxes, that the state is suffocating them, that relocation is sometimes the only solution. As if moving fortunes abroad were merely an act of survival, not disguised fraud.

Simon feels anger rising, but it is a sad, lucid anger, the kind that comes from someone who has seen too much to remain naive. He replies that when the poor cheat, it is called theft, but when the rich do it, people find excuses, justifications, elegant words to hide the shame. His voice trembles slightly, but it does not falter.

Then, in an almost instinctive gesture, he turns his head toward Wilhelm. The prince. The living symbol of the privileges he is denouncing. And he adds, in a calm but truth-laden tone, that everyone knows who the biggest beneficiaries in the country are. The room holds its breath. Wilhelm lowers his eyes, unable to respond. He feels heat rising to his cheeks, a deep, almost painful discomfort. He knows Simon is talking about him, about his family, about this system that raised him but also confines him.

In that suspended moment, two worlds brush against each other. Simon, with his raw truth, his almost insolent courage. Wilhelm, with his heavy silence, his tight chest, and this new sensation: being seen, truly seen, beyond the crown. And in that classroom, for the first time, something cracks. A façade. A certainty. A destiny.

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SCENE 14

The day it all began, without them knowing

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It is lunchtime and, as every day, the room imposes its silent order made of rows, traditions, and invisible hierarchies, while Wilhelm walks forward with his tray between the chairs where everyone is seated in the place that their name, their status, and their heritage have always assigned to them.

As he lifts his eyes, he notices that a new presence has taken a seat compared to the day before, a silhouette that does not fit into the frozen décor of this institution, and in a second he understands that something has changed without anyone announcing it: Simon is there.

Wilhelm sits in front of him, as if drawn by a force he does not yet understand, and tells him that he did not know he was at “Scogsacken,” trying to start a conversation that goes beyond simple politeness, while Simon calmly replies that he is not, but that day students have to eat somewhere, a simple answer that already highlights the social boundary between them.

They introduce themselves, exchange their first names like two ordinary teenagers, but in their eyes there is already something unusual, a sincere curiosity in Wilhelm, a quiet confidence in Simon, and that almost imperceptible feeling that this exchange is not insignificant.

Wilhelm tries to prolong the moment and tells him that he liked what he said in class, that it was well put, a remark that could seem ordinary but which, coming from him, sounds like an awkward attempt at recognition, almost like an admiration he does not yet know how to name.

Simon, without looking away, then asks him why he did not say anything at the time, and this question, spoken without aggression but with honesty, touches a sensitive point, because Wilhelm replies that he is not supposed to talk about politics, reminding in a single sentence all the weight of the expectations that rest on him and dictate his silences.

Meanwhile, August observes the scene with cold and calculating attention, scrutinizing Wilhelm’s slightest gestures, the direction of his gaze, the intensity of his interest in this boy who is not part of their circle, and he immediately perceives the imbalance it could create.

Seeing Wilhelm talking with Simon, August calls out to him and invites him to come eat with them exceptionally, subtly reminding that everyone has their place according to their class, and that this unexpected closeness does not match the school’s implicit rules.

Wilhelm stands up without protesting, faithful to the education that has taught him not to openly contradict, but before leaving he tells Simon that they will see each other later, and in this hastily spoken sentence there is already a silent promise, a desire not to let this exchange dissolve into the imposed order.

As he almost drops his tray, he unintentionally reveals the turmoil within him and Simon laughs at seeing him like that.

Sitting next to August, Wilhelm listens to him say that he wanted to “get him out of there,” that he thought he was stuck, as if talking to Simon were some discomfort he needed to be saved from, while everything in his gaze suggested he would have preferred to stay, to continue that simple but deeply sincere conversation.

At the other end of the table, Simon throws a dark, wary look at August, and August returns it with the same intensity, creating a silent tension that runs through the room without a single word being exchanged, while at the center of it all, a fragile and invisible bond begins to form between two boys whom everything should separate, but whom something indefinable is already bringing closer.

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SCENE 15

​Silence is not weakness

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Simon waits for August outside, in that fragile in-between where one decides to swallow their pride for something greater than themselves, and when August arrives accompanied by Vincent and Nils, surrounded by that almost arrogant confidence his position gives him, he is visibly surprised to see Simon come to him, as if the initiative could not come from that side of the world.

August asks his two friends to go ahead and tells them he will join them after speaking with Simon, and in this simple gesture there is already a whole implicit hierarchy: he grants a few minutes, as one grants a favor, as if this conversation were just a detail to settle before returning to his place at the top.

Simon calmly explains that he might be able to bring the bottles for the party, but that he would like his sister to be able to come as well, and behind this condition there is neither caprice nor self-serving strategy, only the sincere desire of an older brother who wants to give Sarah the opportunity to fit in, to meet new people and not feel like an outsider in a school where social codes are as strict as they are silent.

August replies that he has no objection, with an almost casual lightness, as if everything naturally depended on his approval, then he allows himself to joke about the alcohol, insinuating that he hopes Simon won’t lose his hair with rubbing alcohol, a remark meant to be mocking but which above all reveals a deeply rooted condescension.

Simon, for his part, remains still, and in his gaze one can read disbelief in the face of so much insolence, especially when one knows that it was August himself who approached him, that it is he who needs these bottles, and yet the dynamic seems reversed, as if Simon still had to prove his place.

He could have answered, put August back in his place, pointed out the irony of the situation, but he chooses to remain silent, because his objective goes beyond his own pride and his sister’s well-being matters more than the need to defend his honor in that moment.

When August approaches and allows himself to ruffle Simon’s hair, the gesture seems harmless to an outside observer, almost friendly, but it carries within it a subtle form of domination, a way of occupying space and reminding who, in his eyes, holds the power.

Simon endures it once again without reacting, but his silence is not weakness; it is filled with tension, restraint and a fierce dignity that refuses to be completely crushed, even if the situation pushes him toward it.

In this scene, nothing explodes, no words are thrown like weapons, and yet everything is played out in the looks, in the distance between bodies, in those micro-expressions that translate what the dialogue does not dare to formulate, already foreshadowing the imbalance and the conflicts to come.

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SCENE 16

​That bond we don’t choose

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Simon goes to his father’s place whom he hasn’t seen for a long time, driven not by desire but by necessity, knowing very well that he is about to cross the threshold of a place where he knows affection has been damaged by years, health issues and addictions that have gradually created a gap between them.

His father is surprised to see him appear at the door, as if this visit was not only unexpected but almost improbable, and despite the visible mess behind him, the empty bottles lying around, the crushed cigarette butts, the fatigue etched on his face, he lets him in with an awkwardness that betrays both shame and joy.

As he closes the door, the father hurriedly puts away a few bottles as if trying in a few seconds to erase the traces of a daily life he no longer controls, while Simon takes off his shoes in silence and lets his gaze wander through the apartment, trying to understand how this man lives, the man who remains his father despite everything.

He observes the details, the signs of a gradual abandonment, and one can guess in his eyes a contained pain, that of a son who would have wanted something else, stability, a presence, a solid adult to rely on, but who stands there facing a fragility he cannot fix.

His father asks how his mother is doing, how Sarah is, whether boarding school is going well, and offers him a coffee while adding that he is happy to see him, as if trying to fill the emptiness of years of absence with ordinary sentences that attempt to recreate a semblance of normality.

They sit in the living room, surrounded by a disorder that makes the scene even more vulnerable, and Simon finally says that he has a favor to ask, admitting that he knows he deals alcohol and that everyone knows it, and that he would need some for a party, while specifying that he does not drink himself.

The father looks at him, a bit taken aback, almost ashamed that his son knows this reality, then an embarrassed smile crosses his face, as if trying to turn this request into a complicit moment, and he tells him that he knows what it’s like to want to impress a girl.

But Simon immediately cuts him off, with disarming simplicity: “I’m gay, dad.”

There is neither anger nor provocation in his voice, only the truth laid there, bare, and the father apologizes immediately and corrects his sentence by talking about impressing a cute guy, awkwardly trying to show that he remembers that detail.

A slight smile crosses Simon’s face, a shy, almost embarrassed smile, and of realizing himself that this cute guy makes him feel something.

His father agrees to help him out and stands up to take him in his arms, a gesture meant to be affectionate but that remains awkward, loaded with years of absence and broken promises, and Simon lets himself be embraced while murmuring that he does not want anyone to know that he came to see him.

This request slightly hurts the father, one can see it in his gaze that darkens for a fraction of a second, but he understands, because he knows he is not the kind of father one speaks about with pride, that he is rather the one who is hidden to avoid judgment.

In this embrace, Simon is not completely at ease; his body remains a bit stiff, as if he wanted to believe in this moment without being able to fully surrender to it, and yet he stays there, because despite everything, despite the flaws, despite the shame and the silences, this bond still exists, fragile and imperfect, but impossible to erase.

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SCENE 17

The humiliating hazing

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It is the initiation evening of Prince Wilhelm at Hillerska, and behind the impeccable walls of this prestigious school lie ancient traditions passed down like sacred rituals, even when they border on cruelty and kindness no longer really has a place.

Night falls and, suddenly, a group of hooded students bursts in, dressed in unsettling costumes that transform their silhouettes into almost inhuman figures, and they come to fetch the prince as one would come for prey, without gentleness, without respect for his title or his fear.

They tie his hands, gag his mouth to stifle his cries, and drag him outside as he struggles, as his shoes slip, as his body hits the ground, and the mud clings to him as if to erase any trace of royalty.

In the courtyard, under the invisible yet very present gazes of those who know and let it happen, they tie him to a statue as one would display a trophy, then spray him with water guns, throw flour in his face, turning his humiliation into a spectacle, into a rite of entry where dignity must first be broken.

They then force him to walk on all fours, held by a string like an animal, and in this imposed posture there is no longer a prince, no crown, only a teenager subjected to the violence of a group testing his limits.

Then comes the most disgusting moment: each of them spits into a glass, one after another, slowly, almost solemnly, and Wilhelm understands that he is supposed to drink this repulsive mixture to prove his belonging, to show that he accepts the rules, even when they demean him.

Disgust is visible on his face, his gaze blurs, his stomach tightens, and yet he obeys, because he has been taught to endure, to take it, not to fail, even when everything in him screams to refuse.

He drinks, and his body cannot take it, he vomits, emptied, humiliated to his very core, but no one stops, no one says that it is enough, because at Hillerska, tradition comes before compassion.

After this ordeal, August, Vincent and Nils welcome him into the room where the party will take place, as if nothing abnormal had just happened, as if this passage through mud and nausea were only a necessary formality.

They make him repeat the oath: “I swear never to betray the code of honor of SKOGSBACKEN, the bonds of this oath unite us for eternity”, and in these words meant to symbolize unity and loyalty, one mostly hears the echo of a pact sealed in humiliation.

August then hands him his uniform, congratulates him for having overcome the ordeal and welcomes him “to the Palace”, as if this word erased the violence of what has just happened, as if belonging was worth that sacrifice.

He even admits that they may have gone a bit too far, and Wilhelm, still shaken, simply answers yes, but that he thought he wanted to be treated like the others, revealing in this sentence all the ambiguity of his desire: not to be isolated by his title, even if it means accepting to be brought down.

Finally, he is told that girls will come later to the party, as if to close the parenthesis of brutality and place the evening back into a festive normality, while under the now clean uniform, under the lights and the music to come, there remains the invisible trace of a night where, to belong, he had to kneel.

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SCENE 18

August’s lesson

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August begins to speak with that cold assurance he adopts when he thinks he holds the truth, explaining to Wilhelm that his mistake was to surround himself with the wrong people, that his place is not with just anyone but with those of his circle, his rank, as if friendship, attraction or curiosity should also obey a social hierarchy.

He says he understands that Wilhelm wanted to be “normal”, to go to a regular high school, to meet normal girls, to do things like everyone else, but he immediately adds: “You saw the result”, turning the prince’s sincere impulses into strategic mistakes, as if living were already a recklessness.

Always ready to give lessons, August goes even further and claims that if one day he killed someone, no one would report him, because their world protects its own at all costs, because their loyalty goes beyond morality, and Wilhelm first laughs, believing it to be a cynical exaggeration.

But August does not smile, he looks him straight in the eyes and tells him that it is true, that the system is made that way, and in this suspended moment Wilhelm understands that behind the traditions and the oaths lies an implacable mechanism, a network of privileges where truth matters less than the name one carries.

His laughter fades, replaced by a silent shock, because he realizes that this world that claims to protect him is also the one that confines him, the one that decides who he can be seen with, who he can talk to, and perhaps even who he can love.

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SCENE 19

Between music and heartbeats

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When Simon and Sarah arrive at the party, Wilhelm sees them immediately, as if the entire room fades away around them, and his gaze settles on Simon with a strange intensity, almost unsettled, while Simon, sensitive to this presence, lifts his eyes and meets his without hesitation.

Sarah grabs a glass of alcohol passing near her and Simon watches her closely, silent but vigilant, that older brother always ready to protect, even in the middle of noise and music, while Vincent asks who invited Simon and Sarah, and August replies that it was him, adding with that strategic half-smile: “Stay close to your friends, but even closer to your enemies.”

Wilhelm, for his part, cannot help but devour Simon with his eyes, vaguely sensing that it is time to distance himself from August and his group, to step out of the rigid framework that suffocates him, and to allow himself to experience the evening differently, perhaps more sincerely.

He drinks, he dances, he tries to blend into the collective energy, but what truly draws him in, what magnetizes each of his movements, is Simon’s presence, the desire to speak to him, to pick up that conversation interrupted since lunch, to understand what he feels when their gazes meet.

Around them, everyone seems to be having fun: Sarah drinks from glasses left around, perhaps trying to feel like she belongs, August tries to get closer to Felice, and the music drowns out thoughts that are too heavy, but Simon, for his part, observes, attentive, lucid, as if he always remains slightly on the edge of the spectacle.

When Sarah, dizzy from alcohol, goes outside for some air and finds Felice vomiting after having drunk too much, the scene becomes more fragile, more human, and in this moment of vulnerability Felice tells her that she is pretty but weird, to which Sarah responds with disarming sincerity that she is asperger and that she has a blood pressure disorder, turning a possible mockery into an assumed truth.

Sarah then tells Felice that she would look pretty with her hair loose rather than straightened, a simple remark but one that deeply touches, because she does not judge, she sees, and the two of them go outside together to breathe, connected by an unexpected confidence.

Meanwhile, Wilhelm goes to get water and finds himself near Simon, perhaps by chance, perhaps because his body led him where his heart wanted to go, and he greets him, asks if he is okay, looking for an opening in the turmoil.

Simon replies, then says that he should probably go check on his sister, faithful to that protective role he never abandons, and he walks away, leaving Wilhelm with that feeling of incompleteness that tightens his chest.

But this time, Wilhelm does not want to let the moment slip away; after a brief hesitation, he follows him toward the exit, catches up with him and grabs his arm, a gesture both bold and almost trembling, before asking if he would agree to go outside with him for a moment.

Simon then notices that Sarah is with Felice, that she is no longer alone, and understands that he can, for once, allow himself a moment for himself, a suspended space where the music fades away and where only two heartbeats remain, beginning to fall into sync.

 

SCENE 20

The suspended breath that will change everything

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Away from the crowd, far from the bursts of laughter that are too loud, from the music that pounds against the walls and the judging looks, Simon and Wilhelm find themselves alone in a small, almost invisible corner, as if the party had stopped existing around them to offer them a space apart, fragile and precious.

Wilhelm has been drinking, a lot, enough for his gestures to be a little slower, his words a little less controlled, and for the barriers he usually builds around himself to begin to crack. In this protective half-darkness, he starts to sing very softly, almost timidly, the first lines of the song that Simon performed with the choir on the day of his arrival at Hillerska: “It takes a fool to remain sane…”

His voice is not steady, it wavers slightly under the effect of alcohol, but there is something sincere in this attempt, almost childlike, and it makes Simon smile immediately, a soft, surprised smile, touched to see that the prince remembered those words.

Wilhelm stops, admits that he does not know the rest, and Simon, without hesitation, prompts him, gently, like a shared secret, and their two voices blend in a low tone, hesitant but complicit, and they laugh together when they make mistakes, when they murmur too quickly or too incorrectly.

That laughter has nothing mocking about it; it is light, liberating, it brings them closer in a simple and natural way, as if, for the first time since the beginning of the evening, Wilhelm was no longer a prince and Simon was no longer “the other”, but simply two boys sharing a fragile moment in the noise of a party that would not understand them.

Simon ends up asking, almost with restraint, if he liked it when he sang that day, and Wilhelm does not answer immediately; he becomes serious, surprisingly serious, and tells him that he loved it, that it was magnificent to hear all those voices gathered, focused, aligned, carried by the same energy.

He explains that everyone was singing together, that it was impressive, but that when he heard Simon’s voice rise, clear and inhabited, he could only hear him, as if the rest had faded away, and that he felt that he was singing with his heart.

These words are not thrown lightly; they are clumsy perhaps, but deeply honest, and Simon receives them with gravity, as if discovering beneath the awkwardness and the privileges a boy capable of seeing, of listening, of truly feeling.

He no longer looks only at the prince; he looks at Wilhelm.

Wilhelm then asks him if he likes being at Hillerska, and Simon does not answer, as if the question were too vast, too complex to be resolved into a yes or a no, so he turns it back to him, subtly.

Wilhelm thinks, hesitates, then says yes, that he likes it, but his tone lacks confidence, and Simon perceives this flaw, this doubt he does not express but that floats between them like a restrained truth.

And suddenly, in the distance, August’s voice rings out, calling Wilhelm, searching for him insistently, like a brutal reminder of the world he belongs to.

Wilhelm tenses immediately, as if he were about to be torn away from something precious, and he murmurs that he does not want them to be seen, that he does not want to be discovered here, not now, not with him.

He asks Simon to crouch, with real urgency in his eyes, and Simon finds it funny, even absurd, this prince hiding like a teenager caught in the act.

Wilhelm, in a gesture both awkward and instinctive, places his hand on Simon’s head to help him bend down, then on his arm, trying to hide him behind the low wall, behind the shadow, behind anything that could protect them from prying eyes.

In the distance, August says that Wilhelm must surely be with a girl somewhere, and those words drift to them, charged with involuntary irony, and Simon and Wilhelm look at each other very closely, a look that says a lot, because no, he is not with a girl, he is with him.

Simon smiles, a discreet but luminous smile, almost victorious, and Wilhelm sees it, understands it, and something wavers even more within him.

The voices keep calling, Vincent, Nils, August, and jokingly, Simon also starts to shout “Wille !” in a mocking tone, as if he were part of the group, and he laughs, sincerely amused by the situation.

But Wilhelm, he does not laugh; he truly does not want to be discovered, he does not want this moment to break, he does not want to return to the surface, and then, in an almost desperate reflex, he places his hand over Simon’s mouth to silence him.

The gesture is spontaneous, quick, but when he realizes what he is doing, when he feels under his palm the warmth of the skin, the breath pressed against it, the sudden silence that settles, he pulls his hand away abruptly.

And yet, it is already too late.

They are a few centimeters from each other, barely five perhaps, their faces so close that their breaths mix, that the air becomes heavier, denser, filled with a new and troubling tension.

They are no longer laughing.

Their gazes lock, intense, deep, and there is no more music, no more voices in the distance, no more party, only this suspended face-to-face where everything seems possible and dangerous at once.

Simon’s breath accelerates slightly, Wilhelm’s as well, and each becomes aware of it, as if their bodies were speaking a language their words do not yet dare to formulate.

Something is happening in their eyes, in their chests, in the way their shoulders tense without moving away, in that imperceptible shiver that runs through their almost touching arms.

It is not only attraction; it is recognition, a dawning certainty, a chemical tension that goes beyond logic and rules, that disturbs their thoughts and makes their hearts beat too fast.

It lasts only a few seconds, but those seconds stretch like a silent eternity, a moment out of time where each understands, without a single word being spoken, that something has shifted.

They are no longer simply two students hiding at a party.

They are two souls who have just brushed against each other to the point of no longer being able to pretend to feel nothing.

And even if no one saw them, even if the party continues as if nothing had happened, at that precise moment, something has changed, deeply, irreversibly.

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