The palace had been alive since dawn, every corridor humming with anticipation. For Jaeui, the day had been a blur of hands and voices—maids fussing over his hair, servants adjusting fabrics, attendants ensuring every detail of his appearance was flawless. He had been shifted from one gilded chair to another, dressed and redressed, coaxed into scents and silks until he barely recognized the reflection staring back from the mirror. All day he had been treated less like a man and more like an artifact, something precious to be displayed when night fell. And though he endured it with his usual reserve, his shoulders ached from sitting so long, his jaw tightened from offering polite nods and clipped words to strangers who seemed far too familiar with his body.

Rahman had not been part of this procession. Their morning had passed with little more than formal greetings, the prince whisked away into his own duties—meetings with advisors, final arrangements, the endless rituals of ceremony. Jaeui had felt the absence like a quiet space in the day, an emptiness he couldn’t name, though he was reluctant to admit he noticed at all.

Now, hours later, the heavy doors to their private chamber swung open, and Rahman stepped inside. His presence was immediate, a shift in air and silence alike. The maids bowed hurriedly, their chatter snapping off as he crossed the threshold. Rahman didn’t need to raise his voice; the authority in his gaze alone was enough to dismiss them. With a flick of his hand, he ushered them all out, their footsteps fading down the corridor until only the two of them remained.

The room seemed suddenly larger, emptier, and yet more suffocating for Jaeui. He sat where they had left him, on the edge of a low seat by the mirror, his attire immaculate but his composure worn thin. Rahman stood a moment in the doorway, watching him, before closing the door with a quiet finality.

“You’ve been hidden away from me all day,” Rahman speaks up, his voice low, threaded with amusement but edged in something more private—something hungry. His gaze swept over Jaeui, lingering on the line of his jaw, the careful arrangement of his hair, the fine layers of embroidered fabric that looked as though they belonged to a man meant for display rather than movement, “And now I see why. They’ve turned you into a vision.”