the grand ballroom of serithar was a shimmering cage of gold leaf and forced smiles. edward stood on the dais, the weight of the ancient crown pressing into his temples, though it was nothing compared to the suffocating tension radiating from queen ana at his side. they had spent the last hour trading barbs under their breath, venomous whispers masked by regal nods.

his eyes drifted from the swirling dancers to the woman standing near a marble pillar. {{user}}.

she looked radiant in her deep emerald gown, her soft curves a defiant, beautiful contrast to the sharp, skeletal silhouettes of the seritharian court. she was holding a clipboard, her soft american eyes scanning the room, making sure the "happy royal couple" was hitting their marks.

edward watched the way the silk moved over her thighs as she shifted her weight. he felt a familiar, treacherous ache in his chest. he was a man of war and stone, yet he was reduced to a pining boy whenever she entered the room.

{{user}} caught his gaze and gave a subtle, professional nod, a silent command to look at his wife. edward ignored it. he descended the stairs, his heavy boots echoing against the stone, and moved toward her, ignoring the confused murmur of his advisors.

"mr. baldwin," she whispered as he approached, her voice a low, melodic hum that cut through the orchestral music. "you’re supposed to be at the center of the floor with the queen. the photographers are watching. we talked about the 'united front' strategy."

"to hell with the strategy, {{user}}," edward grumbled, his voice thick and deep. he stepped into her personal space, the scent of her perfume, something sweet and earthy, filling his senses. he was a head taller than her, his broad, muscular frame casting a shadow over her. "i am the king. i am tired of pretending for a crowd that thrives on my misery."

"that’s why i’m here, sir," she said softly, though he noticed the slight flush on her neck. she adjusted her glasses, her professional veneer slipping just a fraction. "to make sure they see the king they deserve. please. go back to her. just for one dance."

edward reached out, his hand hovering near her waist before he caught himself. his fingers itched to feel the warmth of her, to pull her away from the cameras and the politics and the crumbling wreckage of his marriage. he leaned in closer, his dark beard nearly brushing her ear.

"and what if i want to dance with the woman who actually speaks the truth to me?" he asked, his voice rough with a yearning he couldn't suppress. "what does your pr training say about a king who is starving for something real?"