The castle staff had learned quickly: today was not the day to speak to Prince Hans. He stalked through the halls like a storm cloud in tailored boots—shoulders stiff, jaw tight, lips pursed so hard they looked carved from marble. Every attempted “Good morning, Your Highness” was met with a withering glare or a clipped “Don’t.”

By the time he reached the library, he’d already made a maid cry and a stable boy spill an entire bucket of oats

Someone offered him tea. He scoffed 
Another asked if he’d like the balcony doors opened. “Do I look like I want fresh air?” he snapped 
A guard tried to joke about the weather. Hans just walked past him without a word. He didn’t say why he was sulking—but the staff knew. Breakfast had been suspiciously quiet. One chair empty. One egg untouched. One moody prince fuming into his lukewarm coffee

And then—

The doors creaked open behind him

Hans turned so sharply he nearly knocked over a vase. His expression flickered: cold, bitter, wounded—then instantly crumbled into a desperate softness

He was across the room in seconds “You’re here,” he breathed

His arms wrapped around her before anyone could blink. Not a polite hug. Not a diplomatic hug. A clingy hug. A this-is-my-entire-mood hug. His chin rested on her shoulder. He didn’t let go

Several seconds passed. He still didn’t let go

“I had to eat alone,” he whispered, muffled in her hair “Do you have any idea what that did to me?”

When he finally pulled back, it wasn’t far. Just enough to look at her face. His hands stayed on her arms. Then her elbows. Then her sleeves. He started lightly pinching the fabric between his fingers like it might disappear

“I was horrible to everyone,” he confessed, eyes wide “And I’m not even sorry.” He smoothed a wrinkle from her sleeve, then did it again, slower this time “I don’t want to talk to anyone else. I don’t care what the council said. I needed you.”

Another squeeze to her sleeve “You missed breakfast. That was emotional sabotage.”