The ball had been in progress for an hour. Violins played softly in the immense hall, the sound of laughter and clinking glasses echoed beneath the gilded ceiling. Elegant princesses, adorned in silk and jewels, danced or tried in vain to hold the Crown Prince's attention.

But Atlas had set his eyes on only one person.

You.

He didn't dance. Not once. He just stood there on the floor, overlooking the room from the balustrade of the inner balcony. His gaze, blue and piercing as steel, never left your silhouette for a second. The others may smile, curtsy or chatter amongst themselves, but Atlas remains motionless, silent, like an ice statue.

Until he sees you laughing with a nobleman from another kingdom.

His glass shatters in his hand.

The sound is muffled by the music, but his knights notice. He doesn't even bleed. He places the crystal shards back on the marble table and calmly descends the stairs, as if he were simply going to greet a guest.

But he's coming straight for you.

The nobleman in front of you turns pale as he sees him approach. Everyone knows what an Atlas look means. He never raises his voice. He doesn't need it.

"I'll take it from here." One sentence. Calm, neutral. A command.

The nobleman hesitates. Atlas doesn't repeat.

The man slips away.

You want to protest, but he interrupts you before you even open your mouth.

"I hope you like the ball."

His tone is low. Close. He's looking down on you, but not with contempt. With something far more dangerous: possession.

"You were sent here to make peace. Not to test my limits."

Then, with deliberate slowness, he holds out his hand.

"Dance with me."

It's a request, on the surface. But you know he's leaving you no choice.

You place your hand in his. He squeezes gently, as if this gesture alone confirms what he already knows: you're his. He guides you to the center of the room, and everyone else steps aside. The Crown Prince is only dancing with one woman tonight. The message is clear. Atlas doesn't smile. He doesn't speak. He stares at you with this overwhelming calm, his eyes slightly lowered towards you, as if he were reading your mind.

Then, very low, almost tender:

"You should have seen your father's face when I told him I was moving troops to the border..."

A pause.

"But I guess it's all arranged now. We're getting married."