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This review may contain spoilers
Beautiful and engaging at its best, emotionally strong, but overreaches and stumbles
There is something deliberately ambitious about The Next Prince. From the very first episode, the series makes it clear that it does not want to be just another comfortable Thai BL set in sunny cafés. Here, romance is born under the weight of the crown, shaped by protocol, political disputes, and the constant watch of a kingdom that must decide who will rule it. The premise is simple and alluring: a prince raised far from his origins is forced to return and compete for the throne, while falling in love with the man who was meant only to protect him. What follows is a modern fairy tale that is luxurious, sometimes uneven, but hard to ignore.
Visually, the series is a spectacle. Few BLs invest as heavily in sets, costumes, and cinematography as The Next Prince. Every outfit seems designed to express power, tradition, or change, and every palace hall carries an almost theatrical sense of grandeur. The art direction turns the fictional kingdom of Emmaly into a believable, almost tangible place, while the cinematography supports this fantasy with elegant framing and surprisingly well choreographed action scenes. It is a production that understands the power of imagery and knows how to use it to create mood and impact.
At the heart of this world are Khanin, a prince torn between the life he lived and the destiny forced upon him, and Charan, the royal guard whose loyalty soon goes beyond duty. Zee and NuNew share a rare sense of intimacy, built not only through grand gestures but through silences, lingering looks, and a physical closeness charged with emotional tension. When the series leans into romance, it succeeds. The intimate scenes are filmed with care and sensitivity, avoiding vulgarity and aiming for a near solemn intensity, as if love itself were a political act.
The issue is that The Next Prince tries to say many things at once. There are succession battles, environmental concerns, reflections on gender inequality, family trauma, and ancient traditions being challenged by a younger generation. All of these ideas are interesting and powerful on their own, but the script does not always weave them together with the same precision it gives to the visuals. Some storylines appear promising but are resolved too quickly, while others linger longer than needed, resulting in episodes that feel more like transitions than true narrative progress.
The supporting characters highlight this imbalance. Ramil and Paytai, for instance, share an intense dynamic marked by obsession, emotional violence, and extreme loyalty, often rivaling the main couple’s impact. Calvin and Jay are introduced as hints of something greater but remain confined to suggestion rather than development. Ava, the only princess among the contenders, represents meaningful change within the kingdom, yet she is underused, fading from the story just when she could have deepened the debate about power and tradition. These are strong pieces on a board the script does not always know how to move.
The pacing also wavers. The early episodes are engaging, clearly establishing the world and its central conflicts. Midway through, however, the narrative loses momentum. Conflicts repeat, revelations land without the expected weight, and certain decisions feel overly convenient. Even so, moments of genuine dramatic strength remain. Scenes of grief, family confrontations, and small emotional victories remind us why it is still worth seeing the story through to the end.
Musically, the series reinforces its sense of grandeur. The soundtrack, with classical influences and recurring themes, enhances the epic tone and helps carry the emotional weight, even when the writing falters. There is a clear awareness that The Next Prince wants to be remembered as something bigger and more refined, almost a prestige BL, and that ambition is reflected in its technical choices.
In the end, The Next Prince is a work of contrasts. It is beautiful, engaging, and emotionally effective at its best, but it stumbles when it tries to handle more than it can fully develop. Still, its charm is undeniable. Between excess, well placed silences, and flashes of true inspiration, the series stands as an imperfect yet memorable royal romance, one that may not be entirely satisfying on paper, but lingers in the mind because of how it feels. A modern fairy tale that shines brightest when it chooses emotion over strategy.
Visually, the series is a spectacle. Few BLs invest as heavily in sets, costumes, and cinematography as The Next Prince. Every outfit seems designed to express power, tradition, or change, and every palace hall carries an almost theatrical sense of grandeur. The art direction turns the fictional kingdom of Emmaly into a believable, almost tangible place, while the cinematography supports this fantasy with elegant framing and surprisingly well choreographed action scenes. It is a production that understands the power of imagery and knows how to use it to create mood and impact.
At the heart of this world are Khanin, a prince torn between the life he lived and the destiny forced upon him, and Charan, the royal guard whose loyalty soon goes beyond duty. Zee and NuNew share a rare sense of intimacy, built not only through grand gestures but through silences, lingering looks, and a physical closeness charged with emotional tension. When the series leans into romance, it succeeds. The intimate scenes are filmed with care and sensitivity, avoiding vulgarity and aiming for a near solemn intensity, as if love itself were a political act.
The issue is that The Next Prince tries to say many things at once. There are succession battles, environmental concerns, reflections on gender inequality, family trauma, and ancient traditions being challenged by a younger generation. All of these ideas are interesting and powerful on their own, but the script does not always weave them together with the same precision it gives to the visuals. Some storylines appear promising but are resolved too quickly, while others linger longer than needed, resulting in episodes that feel more like transitions than true narrative progress.
The supporting characters highlight this imbalance. Ramil and Paytai, for instance, share an intense dynamic marked by obsession, emotional violence, and extreme loyalty, often rivaling the main couple’s impact. Calvin and Jay are introduced as hints of something greater but remain confined to suggestion rather than development. Ava, the only princess among the contenders, represents meaningful change within the kingdom, yet she is underused, fading from the story just when she could have deepened the debate about power and tradition. These are strong pieces on a board the script does not always know how to move.
The pacing also wavers. The early episodes are engaging, clearly establishing the world and its central conflicts. Midway through, however, the narrative loses momentum. Conflicts repeat, revelations land without the expected weight, and certain decisions feel overly convenient. Even so, moments of genuine dramatic strength remain. Scenes of grief, family confrontations, and small emotional victories remind us why it is still worth seeing the story through to the end.
Musically, the series reinforces its sense of grandeur. The soundtrack, with classical influences and recurring themes, enhances the epic tone and helps carry the emotional weight, even when the writing falters. There is a clear awareness that The Next Prince wants to be remembered as something bigger and more refined, almost a prestige BL, and that ambition is reflected in its technical choices.
In the end, The Next Prince is a work of contrasts. It is beautiful, engaging, and emotionally effective at its best, but it stumbles when it tries to handle more than it can fully develop. Still, its charm is undeniable. Between excess, well placed silences, and flashes of true inspiration, the series stands as an imperfect yet memorable royal romance, one that may not be entirely satisfying on paper, but lingers in the mind because of how it feels. A modern fairy tale that shines brightest when it chooses emotion over strategy.
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