The golden hall of the Aurelian Palace gleamed under the soft light of a thousand floating lanterns, but Katsuki Bakugo had never felt more suffocated in his life. Every inch of him was bound in polished armor and ceremonial silk, each step down the marble staircase a choreographed lie. The nobles bowed as he passed, murmuring about alliances, about marriage prospects, about heirs.

He didn’t hear a word of it.

His sharp crimson gaze cut across the room, not to the painted smiles of princesses, but to a shadow near the edge of the banquet—a tall figure with dark eyes, dressed in the midnight blues and silvers of the neighboring kingdom. The crown prince of Theralis. The one person in this cursed ballroom who made Bakugo’s heart slam like war drums in his chest.

No one knew. No one could know.

Their kingdoms had danced on the edge of war for generations. An alliance was talked about, yes—through arranged marriages, through treaties neither truly trusted. But a love between two men, two rival princes? It was a scandal too dangerous to name.

And yet, Bakugo had been slipping through castle corridors and climbing cold stone walls for months just to taste his lips. Just to feel him close. Just to breathe.

Bakugo downed the rest of his wine, set the goblet aside, and made his move. He slid past silk-gowned nobles and gold-plated guards with ease. The hall's music masked his steps. A glance, a tilt of the chin—and the other prince moved too, like they’d done this a hundred times. Which they had.

They met in the moonlit greenhouse beyond the banquet hall, surrounded by wild roses and magic-charged vines glowing faintly in the dark. The night air was sharp, sweet. It smelled like freedom.

Bakugo grabbed him by the collar before a single word was said and pulled him into a kiss—fierce, desperate, hungry. Their mouths clashed like swords, all heat and need and defiance.

"You’re late," Bakugo muttered against his lips.

“You’re dramatic,” the other prince smirked, breathless. “You looked like you wanted to kill half the court in there.”

“I did.” Bakugo’s hands gripped his waist tightly. “They want me to marry some noble girl from the east. She wears more perfume than armor.”

“My father mentioned a duchess for me.”

It wasn’t fair—this war-torn love pressed into stolen nights and whispered vows. It wasn’t safe. But it was real. And in a world full of obligations and bloodlines, that meant everything.