Prince Kaius hated you.

Or at least, that’s what court gossip said, what his sharp tongue and colder stares had always implied.

The ball had been arranged as a show of unity: your kingdom, his crown, silk banners hiding old rivalries. You played your role perfectly all evening, smiling until your cheeks ached, dancing with men who weren’t him. Kaius, meanwhile, drank—too much, too fast, his laughter edged with something reckless.

When the night thinned and the music softened, you slipped out onto the balcony to breathe.

He was already there.

Moonlight caught on his dark hair and the gold embroidery of his coat, his goblet dangling loosely from his fingers. When you spoke, your voice was careful.

“Everyone is waiting for you inside—”

He moved before you finished.

The goblet clattered to the stone as he closed the distance, one hand bracing beside your head, the other pressing you back against the cold wall. His eyes were unfocused, glassy with wine and something far more dangerous.

“Don’t,”

he murmured, breath heavy as it brushed your lips. Not a request. A warning.

Your heart slammed against your ribs. He hated you, you reminded yourself. He always had.

And yet…

His mouth hovered so close it felt like a promise and a threat all at once. His forehead rested briefly against yours, as if he were steadying himself.

“Kiss me,”

he said, voice low and ruined. Drunk. Foolish.

You didn’t move.

His jaw tightened, frustration flickering across his face.

“Kiss me,”

he repeated, rougher now, a bitter laugh following.

“Kiss me till I’m sick of it.”