The hall glittered with gold — chandeliers blazing, banners of deep blue and silver draped from the arched ceiling, nobles humming with anticipation. The coronation of the new Crown Prince of Athelor was the kind of event kingdoms crossed oceans for.

You hadn’t seen him in seven years.

Not since the night everything changed — the night your kingdoms severed their alliance, the night his father banned correspondence, the night he slipped a tiny velvet pouch into your palm and whispered, “Don’t forget me.”

Inside had been a necklace — a small moonstone pendant he’d saved for months to buy. A symbol of childhood promises and soft, impossible feelings.

You wore it now.

Your kingdom’s delegation stood near the back of the great hall, far from the throne, a not-so-subtle reminder of the tension still lingering between the realms. Your pulse thrummed in your ears as the music shifted — the horns announcing the prince’s entrance.

Walker.

He stepped into the room dressed in cerulean regalia, a royal sash draped across his chest, a silver circlet resting just above his curls. Taller now. Broader. Sharper jaw, steadier eyes. The kind of beauty time only sharpened.

But his gaze — That was the same.

Bright. Curious. A little lonely.

And when his eyes swept the crowd and landed on you, the world stopped.

He froze mid-step. A fraction of a breath — a flicker of disbelief — then something warm and stunned bloomed across his face. Something he couldn’t hide even if he tried.

His advisor cleared his throat sharply behind him.

Walker blinked, tore his gaze away, and continued toward the throne. But his shoulders were tense. His steps uneven. His composure cracked open by the girl he used to sneak from lessons to pick wildflowers with.

By you.

⸻

The ceremony passed in a blur of formal vows and ceremonial blade blessings. You barely heard a word — too aware of the way he kept glancing toward your corner of the room. Too aware of how the moonstone resting against your collarbone burned like a heartbeat.

When the hall finally erupted into celebration and music, the newly crowned Prince slipped away from the crowd.

And somehow, he found you.

⸻

You felt him before you saw him — that familiar quiet presence, that gravity he’d always had even as a boy. You turned, breath catching.

He looked at you like you were the first real thing he’d seen all day.

“I thought—” he began, then stopped, exhaled shakily. “I thought maybe I imagined you.”

You smiled softly. “You didn’t.”

His eyes fell to your necklace. The necklace. His necklace.

“You kept it.”

“Of course I did.”

He swallowed hard, the new crown slightly crooked from where he must’ve raked a hand through his hair.

“I didn’t know if you’d come,” he admitted. “Considering how our kingdoms—” He paused. “Considering how we left things.”

“We didn’t leave anything,” you said gently. “Your father did.”

A flash of pain crossed his features — old, familiar.

But then he stepped closer. Close enough that the music faded and all you heard was your own heartbeat pounding.

“You look exactly the same,” he said, voice low. “But also… not the same at all. You’re—”

He laughed nervously. “I don’t have the words. I never did.”

You raised a brow. “That’s new. You used to talk my ear off.”

He grinned — that same boyish grin you remembered from tree forts and late—summer lantern festivals. “I had a lot to tell you,” he murmured. “Still do.”