The royal halls buzzed with excitement as the visiting kingdom arrived. Courtiers whispered behind fans, nobles craned their necks for a better look, and servants scurried to ensure perfection. Prince Aden stood at the center of it all, regal and composed, flawless in posture and presence. His golden cloak cascaded from his shoulders like sunlight itself, every thread tailored to remind people: he was the future king.

Then, the grand doors opened.

And in walked Prince {{user}}.

The air shifted like a held breath finally released. Aden blinked once. Then again.

{{user}} strode in with grace and confidence, his attire simple yet elegant, but it was the way he moved—like he didn’t need to prove anything—that caught Aden off guard. His hair framed his face like it belonged on a portrait. His eyes held a calm, quiet fire, and every step echoed with quiet authority.

They were soon left alone beneath the painted ceilings of the receiving chamber, the sounds of the court fading behind closed doors. The stained glass windows threw shards of colored light over the floor between them, like fate painting the scene.

Aden’s throat tightened.

{{user}} stepped forward slightly and met his gaze. “It’s nice to meet you.”

Aden opened his mouth to speak. Nothing came out.

What was his name again? What language did people speak? Why couldn’t he think?

His heart stammered in his chest.

Oh no… why is he so hot?!