Chapter 1
Chapter 1
EXT. PARISIAN LUXURY HOTEL - MORNING
The sun reflects off the polished marble of the hotel entrance, but the glare is quickly eclipsed by the strobe-like flickering of a dozen camera flashes. A blacked-out limousine idles at the curb, its engine a low, predatory hum.
JOURNALIST 1 (Shouting over the din) Prince James! Over here! Is it true you spent fifty thousand euros on a single night at the Vesper?
JOURNALIST 2 (Pushing a microphone toward the opening door) Your Highness, the rumors about the girl from the embassy—was she really crying when you left her the tip?
The door swings open. JAMES (19) steps out. He looks like he was sculpted from cold, expensive stone. His silk shirt is unbuttoned just enough to reveal a hint of a tan chest. His eyes are hidden behind dark lenses.
JOURNALIST 3 James, the people are calling you the Prince of Hearts, but the tabloids call you the Womanizer of Komani! Do you have a response to the allegations of your recent scandal?
James pauses, his hand on the car door. He doesn’t look at them. A smirk, barely a twitch of the lip, plays on his face.
JAMES (To himself, a whisper) As if they could ever understand the silence I’m paying for.
JOURNALIST 1 Silence? Is that a confession, Prince James? Are you acknowledging that your life is nothing but a series of one-night stands to escape your grandfather’s shadow?
James ignores him and slides into the back of the car.
INT. LUXURY LIMOUSINE - CONTINUOUS
The door slams shut, cutting off the cacophony of the press. The interior smells of expensive leather and chilled champagne. James rips off his sunglasses and throws them onto the seat beside him.
DRIVER (Through the partition) The King is waiting, Your Highness. He is... not pleased with the morning headlines.
JAMES When is he ever pleased, Henri? Just drive. Make it the long way. I need a moment without someone screaming my name or my sins.
James leans his head back. He closes his eyes, but he doesn’t see darkness. He sees the blurred faces of a hundred women. He remembers the heat of their bodies, the way their skin felt under his hands, and the crushing boredom that followed every climax. To him, sex wasn’t love; it was a drug, a heavy sedative to drown out the echoes of the palace.
INT. KOMANI PALACE - GRAND HALL - LATER
The footsteps of James’s boots click sharply against the checkered marble floor. The hall is vast, filled with portraits of dead men who look exactly like him—unhappy and powerful. At the end of the hall, the GRANDFATHER stands by a massive floor-to-ceiling window, his back to the room. He holds a cane with a gold wolf’s head.
GRANDFATHER (Voice like gravel) Do you smell that, James?
James stops ten feet away, hands in his pockets.
JAMES Smell what? The lilies? Your favorite scent, isn’t it?
The Grandfather turns around slowly. His face is a map of wrinkles and repressed rage.
GRANDFATHER The smell of rot. The smell of a legacy being dragged through the gutters of Paris by a boy who thinks his blood makes him a god. You are a disgrace!
JAMES (Bored) You’ve said that every Tuesday for the last three years. Can we skip to the part where you threaten to cut my allowance so I can go take a nap?
The Grandfather’s face turns purple. He lunges forward, his cane swinging. He doesn’t hit James, but he strikes a priceless Ming vase on a pedestal next to him. The porcelain shatters with a scream-like crack, shards flying across the floor.
GRANDFATHER (Screaming) You are a reckless, arrogant child! Do you have any idea what you’ve done? The press is calling for an investigation into the crown’s finances because of your “parties”!
James doesn’t flinch. A shard of porcelain has grazed his cheek, drawing a thin line of blood. He doesn’t even wipe it away.
JAMES I did exactly what you taught me. I took what I wanted. I thought that was the Komani way.
GRANDFATHER (Lifting his cane) I will beat that arrogance out of you if I have to!
The Grandfather strikes James across the shoulder. James takes the blow without moving, his expression vacant, as if he were somewhere else entirely.
INT. JAMES’S BEDROOM - NIGHT
James lies sprawled on his king-sized bed. The room is dark, lit only by the moon filtering through the balcony doors. He stares at the ceiling. He feels nothing. Not the bruise on his shoulder, not the sting on his cheek.
His mind drifts. He remembers the girl from last night. A blonde with eyes that promised him something she couldn’t deliver. He remembers the way he pushed her onto the silk sheets, the sound of her breath hitching as he unzipped his fly.
FLASHBACK - INT. HOTEL SUITE - NIGHT
James is over her, his movements frantic and devoid of tenderness. He wants to feel something, anything, to stop the sound of his grandfather’s voice in his head.
The girl moans, her hands clawing at his back. James enters her with a sharp thrust, the sound of their bodies colliding—a wet, rhythmic slapping—filling the room. He watches her face as she tosses her head back. She thinks he’s with her. He isn’t. He is watching himself from the corner of the room, disgusted by the hollow friction.
GIRL (Breathless, gasping) James… oh God, James… faster…
He complies, his cock sliding in and out of her heat, the shlicking sound of her natural lubrication mixing with the friction of his skin. He feels the buildup, the familiar pressure, and then the release. He spills into her, his body shuddering. He pulls out immediately, the wet pop of his exit punctuating the silence.
He reaches for his wallet. He tosses five hundred euros on the nightstand.
JAMES (Coldly) Don’t be here when I get back from the shower.
END FLASHBACK
BACK TO PRESENT:
His phone vibrates on the nightstand. He glances at it. A blocked number.
JAMES (Answering, voice flat) What?
FEMALE VOICE (O.S.) (Playful, sultry) Hey, baby. I saw you on the news today. You looked so lonely in the back of that car. Why don’t I come over? We can find a much better use for that mouth of yours.
James stares at the ceiling. He doesn’t recognize the voice. It doesn’t matter. They all sound the same eventually.
JAMES Not tonight.
He hangs up. The silence of the room settles over him like a shroud. He thinks about the “gold spoon” everyone says he was born with. To him, it feels like a hook caught in his throat.
A knock at the door. Sharp. Professional.
JAMES Enter.
JOHN, the head of service, enters. He looks at James with a mixture of pity and duty.
JOHN His Majesty requires your presence in the study immediately, Your Highness.
JAMES (Sighing) Does he have more furniture to break, John? Or am I getting a lecture on the virtues of chastity?
JOHN I believe this is something more... permanent, sir.
INT. THE KING’S STUDY - MOMENTS LATER
The room is heavy with the scent of old paper and expensive tobacco. The Grandfather is sitting behind a desk that looks like it belongs in a museum. He doesn’t look up when James enters. He simply tosses two airline tickets onto the mahogany surface.
GRANDFATHER A wager, James. Since you fancy yourself a man who can handle any situation.
JAMES (Scanning the tickets) Egypt? Cairo? You’re sending me to a desert?
GRANDFATHER I am sending you to learn what it means to be a human being, not a parasite. Three years. That is the wager.
JAMES (Laughing) And if I refuse?
GRANDFATHER (Looking up, eyes cold) Then you will never know where your mother is.
James freezes. The air in the room suddenly feels thin.
JAMES (Voice low, dangerous) My mother is dead. You told me she died in childbirth.
GRANDFATHER I lied. She is alive. She is out there, living a life you aren’t worthy of knowing. If you succeed—if you survive three years under my conditions—I will give you her address. If you fail, or if you return before the time is up, I will ensure you never see her face as long as you live.
James grips the edge of the desk. His knuckles are white. The fury is a living thing in his chest, hot and jagged.
JAMES You’re a monster.
GRANDFATHER I’m a King. Pack your bags. You leave at dawn.
INT. PRIVATE JET - DAY
Twelve hours of humming engines and cloud-scapes. James stares out the window. He is stripped of his title, his credit cards, and his dignity. He feels naked without his entourage.
EXT. CAIRO INTERNATIONAL AIRPORT - DAY
The heat hits him like a physical blow as he exits the terminal. It’s thick, smelling of dust, jasmine, and exhaust. A nondescript black sedan is waiting for him.
The driver, a man who speaks no French or English, points to the back seat.
INT. SEDAN - DAY
As the car weaves through the chaotic, honking traffic of Cairo, James catches his first glimpse of the Great Pyramids in the distance. They rise out of the haze like ghosts of a different era. For the first time in his life, he feels small.
DRIVER (Pointing) Giza. Very old. Very strong.
James nods, mesmerized by the scale of it. It’s a far cry from the manicured streets of Paris.
INT. APARTMENT - LATER
The “apartment” is a shock. It’s clean, but it’s tiny. One bedroom, a kitchenette that looks like a closet, and a view of a crowded alleyway. The driver drops a single envelope on the table and leaves.
James opens it. A cheap smartphone and a printed bank statement.
JAMES (Reading aloud) Ten thousand Egyptian Pounds. That’s... what? Two hundred dollars?
He looks around the room for a servant.
JAMES John? John, where do I put the—?
He stops. He is alone. The silence isn’t the heavy, royal silence of the palace. It’s the buzzing, vibrating silence of a city that doesn’t care who he is. He sits on the bed. The mattress is thin. He doesn’t even take off his shoes before he collapses into a deep, exhausted sleep.
INT. APARTMENT - MORNING
8:00 AM. An alarm blares from the cheap phone. James groans and hits snooze. 9:30 AM. It blares again. He swat it away. 9:45 AM. 9:55 AM.
James sits up with a jolt, his hair a mess, his eyes bleary.
JAMES Shit! The university!
He splashes water on his face, fumbling with a faucet that sputters and coughs. He sprays a cloud of his last remaining bottle of expensive cologne, throws on a white button-down, and runs out the door.
EXT. CAIRO STREETS - CONTINUOUS
He stands on the corner, looking for a taxi. Every car that passes is full or ignores him. People are pushing past him, carrying crates of bread, yelling in Arabic.
AN ELDERLY MAN (Pushing past) Ya basha! Move!
JAMES (Stumbling) Hey! Watch it! Do you know—?
He stops. No, they don’t know. He realizes he has to get on the massive, overcrowded bus that just pulled up. It smells of sweat and fried food. He climbs on, wedged between a woman holding a crying baby and a man carrying a live chicken in a cage.
James looks like he’s about to vomit. His face is twisted in pure, unadulterated disgust.
EXT. MIT (MODERN INSTITUTE OF TECHNOLOGY) - DAY
The bus screeches to a halt. James tumbles out, disoriented. He checks his phone. He’s twenty minutes late for his first lecture.
He sprints toward the pharmacy building, his eyes darting between the signs he can barely read. He turns a corner too fast.
CRASH.
He slams into someone. Books fly. A bag spills open. James stumbles but catches his balance.
NEIRA (20) stands there, rubbing her shoulder. She is breathtaking—tan skin, curly dark hair that defies gravity, and eyes that look like they could start a fire or put one out. She wears a simple t-shirt and jeans, but she carries herself like she owns the pavement.
NEIRA (In Egyptian Arabic, sharp) Enta masha’ee? Mesh t’fataf? (Are you walking? Can’t you see?)
James blinks, his breath hitching at the sight of her. But his arrogance is a hard habit to break.
JAMES (In broken Arabic/English) What? You... you ran into me! You should look where you’re going!
NEIRA (Switching to perfect, biting English) Excuse me? I was standing still. You were the one running like a headless chicken. Maybe if you spent less time putting on half a bottle of perfume, you’d have time to look at the road.
JAMES (Stunned) Do you know who you’re talking to?
NEIRA (Laughing, a harsh, beautiful sound) I’m talking to a guy who’s late for class and looks like he’s never seen a crowd before. Go home, Prince Charming. You’re blocking the way.
JAMES I... I... what did you say?
NEIRA (Mocking his confusion) Oh, sorry. Let me say it in a way you understand. Roh et’alem al-kalam al-awal, ba’den t’ala kalimni. (Go learn how to speak first, then come talk to me.)
She walks away, her hips swaying with a confidence that makes James’s blood boil and freeze at the same time.
JAMES (To her back) Hey! I’m not finished with you!
She doesn’t even look back.
INT. LECTURE HALL - MOMENTS LATER
James bursts through the heavy wooden doors. The room is a massive amphitheater, filled with hundreds of students. At the front, the PROFESSOR is writing complex chemical equations on a chalkboard.
The sound of the door slamming makes everyone turn.
PROFESSOR (Without turning around) You. You in the white.
James tries to slip toward an empty seat, pretending he didn’t hear.
PROFESSOR (Turning, pointing his chalk) I am talking to you, the one trying to vanish into the wall. Is this a public park? Do you think the door is a revolving entrance for your convenience?
JAMES (Stopping in his tracks) Are you talking to me?
PROFESSOR Is there anyone else entering like a hurricane? Come here. Front and center.
James walks down the stairs, his face burning. He sees Neira sitting in the third row. She is smirking, her chin resting on her hand.
PROFESSOR What is your name?
James opens his mouth to say “Prince James of Komani,” but his grandfather’s voice echoes in his head: “If you break the rules, you lose.”
JAMES (Stammering) I... my name is Jan.
PROFESSOR Jan. Just Jan? Like a brand of detergent? Let me see...
The Professor flips through a long list on his podium. His brow furrows.
PROFESSOR There is no “Jan” on the enrollment for Organic Chemistry I. Are you trying to play a prank? We don’t “play” here. This is a university, not a nightclub.
JAMES (Trying to maintain his dignity) I am a student here. I was told I was in the Pharmacy program.
PROFESSOR And what lecture are you supposed to be in right now?
JAMES (Blankly) I... I don’t know.
The entire hall erupts in laughter. It’s a wave of sound that hits James like a physical slap. He looks around, desperate, and his eyes lock onto Neira. She isn’t just smirking anymore; she’s laughing, her head tilted back, showing the elegant line of her throat.
PROFESSOR (Voice cold) Out. Get out of my hall. Go find your brain, and then find the registrar. Until then, do not darken my door again.
JAMES But—
PROFESSOR OUT!
James turns and walks back up the stairs. The laughter follows him like a pack of hounds. He pushes through the doors and into the hallway, the sound of the professor resuming the lecture muffled behind the heavy wood.
He leans against the wall, breathing hard. He’s never been humiliated like this. He’s never been “nothing.”
Suddenly, the door opens again. Neira steps out, holding a water bottle. She stops when she sees him.
NEIRA (Teasingly) Still lost, “Jan”? Or are you waiting for your carriage to turn into a pumpkin?
JAMES (Snapping) What is your problem? Why are you following me?
NEIRA (Stepping closer, her scent—something like vanilla and sea salt—filling his senses) I’m not following you. I’m getting water. But I have to say, that was the best performance I’ve seen all week. “Jan.” Really? You couldn’t think of anything better?
She starts to walk past him, but James reaches out and grabs her arm. The contact is electric. Her skin is warm, much softer than he expected.
NEIRA (Voice dropping, dangerous) Take your hand off me. Now.
James doesn’t let go. He pulls her slightly closer, his old instincts—the ones that made him a “womanizer”—kicking in. He tries to put on his predatory, charming smile.
JAMES Maybe you can show me around. I’m sure a girl like you knows all the best places to... hide.
Neira doesn’t blush. She doesn’t swoon. She looks at his hand, then looks him dead in the eye.
NEIRA A girl like me knows exactly how to handle a boy like you.
In one swift motion, she twists her arm, breaks his grip, and brings her water bottle down hard on his foot.
JAMES (Yelling) Ow! Shit!
NEIRA (Walking away) Rule number one in Cairo, Jan: Don’t touch things that don’t belong to you. You might get burned.
James watches her go, his foot throbbing, his heart racing in a way that has nothing to do with the bus ride.
INT. APARTMENT - NIGHT
James is sitting on the floor. He has a bag of frozen peas on his foot. The apartment is sweltering. He stares at the phone.
A text message appears. It’s from an unknown number, but he knows who it is.
MESSAGE: “First day, first failure. You were kicked out of class. You were humiliated by a common girl. Your mother would be so proud. - G.”
James throws the phone against the wall. It doesn’t break, but the screen cracks.
JAMES (Screaming) I hate you! I hate this place!
He stands up, pacing the tiny room. He feels like a caged animal. He needs a drink. He needs a woman. He needs to feel like the Prince again.
He looks at his remaining cash. Ten thousand pounds. In Paris, that wouldn’t buy a bottle of wine at his favorite club. Here, it’s supposed to last a month.
He grabs his jacket and heads out.
EXT. CAIRO NIGHTCLUB - LATER
The club is loud, smoky, and packed with the city’s elite and wealthy tourists. James stands at the bar. He’s spent the last of his “fun” money on a single bottle of imported vodka.
A woman in a tight red dress slides up next to him. She’s beautiful in a surgical, artificial way.
WOMAN You look like you’re a long way from home, handsome.
James looks at her. He sees the hunger in her eyes—the hunger for his money, his status, his body. It’s the look he’s used to. It usually makes him feel powerful. Tonight, it just makes him feel tired.
He thinks of Neira’s eyes. They didn’t have hunger. They had fire. They had contempt.
JAMES (To the woman) I don’t have any money.
WOMAN (Laughing) With that watch? Don’t lie to me.
James looks at his Patek Philippe. It’s worth more than the building they’re standing in. His grandfather let him keep it as a cruel joke—a reminder of the life he can’t touch.
JAMES It’s fake.
The woman’s expression shifts instantly from sultry to bored. She turns away without another word.
James takes a long pull from his glass. The alcohol burns, but it doesn’t numb the feeling of being a ghost.
INT. APARTMENT - LATER THAT NIGHT
James stumbles into the room, drunk and angry. He collapses onto the bed. His mind is a whirlpool of images. His grandfather’s cane. The broken vase. Neira’s laugh.
He reaches into his pocket and pulls out a crumpled piece of paper he found in the hallway after Neira left. It’s a flyer for a “Study Group - Pharmacy Level 1.” At the bottom, in neat, aggressive handwriting, is a name and a number.
“Neira. Don’t call unless you’re serious.”
James stares at the name. He feels a strange, unfamiliar tug in his chest. It isn’t lust. It’s a challenge.
JAMES (Slurring) You want serious? I’ll show you serious.
He fumbles with his cracked phone and types a message.
MESSAGE TO NEIRA: “I need to pass. Teach me.”
He hits send and falls into a black, dreamless sleep.
INT. CAFETERIA - NEXT DAY
The cafeteria is a chaotic sea of students, the air thick with the smell of falafel and coffee. James is sitting at a corner table, looking like he hasn’t slept in a week.
Neira walks up, dropping a heavy stack of textbooks onto the table. The thud makes James jump.
NEIRA You look like death warmed over, Jan. Did the “prince” have a rough night?
JAMES (Rubbing his eyes) I told you, my name is Jan. And I’m fine. Are we doing this or not?
NEIRA (Sitting down, leaning in) Why? Why do you care? Yesterday you didn’t even know what class you were in. Now you’re begging for a tutor. What’s the catch?
JAMES (Looking at her, his voice dropping) The catch is that if I fail, I lose everything. My family... my future. Everything.
Neira studies him. For the first time, her expression softens, just a fraction. She sees the desperation behind his arrogance.
NEIRA Fine. But I have rules. Rule one: No perfume. I can’t breathe when you’re around. Rule two: You do exactly what I say. Rule three: No flirting. It doesn’t work on me, and it’s a waste of time.
James smirks, his old self flickering for a moment.
JAMES We’ll see about rule three.
NEIRA (Opening a book) Open to page forty-two. We’re starting with molecular structures. And shut up.
The next few hours are a blur of atoms, bonds, and reactions. James struggles. His mind isn’t used to working this hard. He’s used to having things handed to him. But every time he falters, he looks at Neira.
He watches the way she concentrates, the way she bites her lower lip when she’s thinking. He notices the small scar on her temple, the way her fingers are stained with ink. She is the most real thing he has ever encountered.
NEIRA (Looking up) You’re staring.
JAMES I’m observing. It’s a scientific method.
NEIRA (Rolling her eyes) It’s creepy. Focus on the covalent bonds, Jan.
As the sun begins to set, casting long, golden shadows across the cafeteria, Neira packs up her things.
NEIRA Not bad for a beginner. You’re not as stupid as you look.
JAMES Is that a compliment?
NEIRA It’s an observation. See you tomorrow. Same time.
She starts to leave, but James stands up.
JAMES Wait. Let me... let me walk you to your car. Or your bus.
NEIRA (Stopping, looking at him curiously) Why?
JAMES (Genuinely) Because it’s dark. And because... I want to.
Neira laughs, but this time it isn’t mocking. It’s light.
NEIRA I’ve lived in this city my whole life, Jan. I’m much safer here than you are. Go home. Wash your face. You have a long way to go.
She disappears into the crowd. James stands there, the noise of the cafeteria fading into the background. He feels a strange sensation in his chest—a flutter, a warmth.
He realizes with a shock that for the first time in his life, he didn’t think about sex for four hours.
EXT. APARTMENT BUILDING - NIGHT
James is walking back to his apartment. The streets are alive with the night market. He stops at a small stall and buys a skewer of grilled meat with the last of his daily budget. It’s greasy and delicious.
As he turns the corner into his alley, he notices a black car parked in the shadows. A man in a suit is leaning against the wall.
MAN Prince James.
James stops. He recognizes the man. It’s his uncle’s chief of security.
JAMES (Tense) What are you doing here? My grandfather sent me here. You have no business with me.
MAN (Smiling thinly) The King sent you here to learn. Your uncle... he sent me here to make sure you fail. He doesn’t want you coming back, James. He likes being the next in line.
JAMES Tell my uncle I’m not going anywhere.
MAN (Stepping closer) We’ll see. Cairo is a dangerous place for a boy who doesn’t know the rules. Accidents happen. Beautiful girls... they can be distractions. Or targets.
James’s blood runs cold. He thinks of Neira.
JAMES If you touch her—
MAN (Laughing) Oh, so there is a girl. Good to know. Sleep well, Your Highness. The game is just beginning.
The man gets into the car and speeds away, leaving James alone in the dark, dusty alley.
INT. APARTMENT - CONTINUOUS
James locks the door and leans against it. He is shaking. Not with fear, but with a protective rage he’s never felt before. He realizes the stakes are higher than his mother’s address.
He looks at the cracked phone. He wants to call Neira, to tell her she’s in danger, to tell her who he really is. But he can’t. If he breaks the wager, he loses his mother. If he stays, he risks Neira.
He walks to the window and looks out at the city. The lights of Cairo twinkle like fallen stars.
JAMES (Whispering) I’ll protect her. I’ll win.
He sits on the floor and opens his chemistry book. He doesn’t look for a distraction. He looks for a solution.
INT. PHARMACY LAB - DAYS LATER
The lab is quiet, filled with the hum of ventilation and the clinking of glassware. James and Neira are working on a titration experiment. They are close, their shoulders almost touching as they peer at a burette.
NEIRA Slowly, Jan. Drop by drop. If you go too fast, the color change will be too sharp.
James focuses, his hand steadying hers as they turn the stopcock. The liquid in the flask swirls, turning from clear to a delicate, pale pink.
JAMES (Softly) Like that?
NEIRA (Breathless) Perfect.
They look at each other. The air between them is thick, charged with something far more potent than the chemicals on the table. James reaches out, his thumb brushing a stray curl away from her forehead.
NEIRA (Whispering) Rule number three, remember?
JAMES Rules were made to be broken, Neira. You told me that.
He leans in. He expects her to pull away, to hit him, to laugh. She doesn’t. She closes her eyes.
Their lips meet. It isn’t like the girls in Paris. It isn’t a conquest or a transaction. It’s a collision of worlds. It’s the taste of mint and coffee and something unmistakably “her.”
James pulls her closer, his hands tangling in her hair. He feels her heart racing against his chest, a frantic rhythm that matches his own.
Suddenly, the lab door bursts open.
PROFESSOR (Roaring) What is the meaning of this?
They spring apart. The Professor is standing there, flanked by two men in dark suits. James recognizes them. His uncle’s men.
PROFESSOR I have received a report of inappropriate behavior and academic dishonesty involving a student named “Jan.”
NEIRA (Confused) What? Professor, that’s not true!
PROFESSOR (To James) And you. Or should I say... Prince James of Komani?
Neira freezes. She looks at James, her eyes wide with shock and betrayal.
NEIRA Prince?
JAMES (Desperate) Neira, I can explain—
PROFESSOR Save it for the disciplinary board. You are suspended pending an investigation into how you entered this university under a false identity. And you, Miss Neira... I expected better from my top student.
NEIRA (To James, voice trembling) You lied to me. Everything... the tutoring, the “Jan”... it was all a lie?
JAMES No! The feelings—
NEIRA (Slapping him, a sharp, echoing crack) Don’t talk to me about feelings. You’re just another spoiled boy playing games with people’s lives.
She runs out of the lab, sobbing.
James tries to follow, but the two men in suits step in his way.
MAN 1 The King is waiting for your call, Your Highness. He’s heard you’ve broken the rules.
JAMES (Growling) Get out of my way.
MAN 2 (Smirking) Or what? You’ll throw a vase at us?
James lunges at them. The fight is brief and brutal. James is fueled by a rage he didn’t know he possessed, but he’s outnumbered. They pin him against the lab table, a row of beakers shattering under his weight.
MAN 1 (Whispering in his ear) Your uncle sends his regards. He said to tell you that the girl... she was a nice touch. We’ll make sure she’s taken care of.
JAMES (Screaming) If you touch her, I’ll kill you!
They drop him onto the floor and leave. James lies amidst the glass shards and spilled chemicals. He is bleeding, his pride is gone, and he has lost the only person who ever saw him for who he truly was.
He looks up at the ceiling, the same way he did in Paris. But this time, he isn’t empty. He is full of a singular, burning purpose.
JAMES (To the empty room) I’m not a Prince anymore. I’m something much worse.
He stands up, wiping the blood from his lip. He doesn’t head for the airport. He heads for the only place he knows he can find her.
EXT. NEIRA’S APARTMENT - NIGHT
The building is old, located in a crowded neighborhood near the Khan el-Khalili bazaar. James stands outside, looking up at the balcony.
JAMES (Shouting) NEIRA!
A window opens. An old woman shouts something in Arabic and throws a shoe at him.
JAMES NEIRA! I’m not leaving!
Finally, the balcony door opens. Neira stands there, her eyes red and swollen.
NEIRA Go away! Go back to your palace!
JAMES I don’t have a palace! I have nothing! My grandfather sent me here as a test! If I fail, I never see my mother again!
Neira pauses. The anger is still there, but curiosity is peaking through.
NEIRA Your mother?
JAMES (Voice breaking) He told me she was dead. He lied. She’s alive, and she’s the only reason I’m here. But then I met you... and I forgot about the wager. I forgot about the Crown. I just wanted to be “Jan.”
NEIRA (Descending the stairs, coming out to the street) You should have told me.
JAMES (Taking her hands) I couldn’t. If I told anyone, the wager was over. But my uncle... he found out. He’s trying to destroy me to get to the throne. He used you to get to me.
NEIRA (Looking at him) They threatened me?
JAMES I won’t let them near you. I don’t care about the throne. I don’t even care about the wager anymore. I just want you.
NEIRA (Searching his eyes) Is this another game, James? Are you going to leave a tip on my nightstand in the morning?
James reaches into his pocket. He pulls out his Patek Philippe watch. He drops it onto the pavement and stomps on it, the expensive gears grinding into the dust.
JAMES That was the last piece of the Prince. I’m just Jan now. A broke pharmacy student with a very bad attitude.
Neira looks at the broken watch, then back at him. A small, tentative smile touches her lips.
NEIRA Well, “Jan”... you’re still failing Organic Chemistry.
JAMES (Pulling her close) Teach me.
She leans into him, and this time, when they kiss, it isn’t a collision. It’s a beginning.
In the distance, the call to prayer echoes over the city rooftops. In a black car parked at the end of the street, a phone records the scene. But James doesn’t look. He is finally, for the first time in nineteen years, exactly where he belongs.
The search for love without love had ended. He had found something much more dangerous, and much more beautiful: reality.
FADE OUT.
