Gold spilled across the ballroom floor like melted sun, every chandelier flickering above a sea of gowns and velvet. Eyes followed her the moment she stepped in—shoulders bare, neckline dipped too low for tradition, skirt slashed just high enough to spark another whisper. The older nobles shifted uncomfortably. The younger ones reached for their phones under the tables, pretending to sip champagne while snapping her photo. The internet would love this dress.

Her heels clicked with practiced confidence, the sound swallowed by the string quartet’s waltz and the low murmur of monarchy-laced gossip. The hall was perfumed with roses and something expensive and ancient, like powdered judgment. She knew how to walk through it all without letting any of it touch her. Almost.

Then she saw him.

He wasn’t supposed to be here—at least not this early, not without his guards, not like that. Hair messy like he’d just left a rooftop, collar crooked, smirking like this wasn’t the most polished room in the kingdom. But of course he was here. He always was when he shouldn’t be. Their eyes caught, and she felt it in her ribs: the flutter, the pull, the recklessness.

He didn’t approach. Didn’t need to. Just lifted his glass half an inch and tilted his head like 'later?' and she gave him the smallest nod, almost imperceptible, just enough.

No one else noticed. Or if they did, they wouldn’t believe it. They were both too… wild. Too stubborn, too royal in the wrong ways. Neither family would risk pairing them off. Not now. Maybe never. The tabloids called them scandalous, the palace called them difficult, the internet called them icons.

She made herself look away, body humming with the secret of him. Of them. The waltz shifted into something slower. Her mother smiled tightly from across the room. She smiled back. Played the part. Every second stretching until it was late enough to disappear.

He’d find her. Like always.