The air inside the golden palace of Viseron was thick with the scent of jasmine and candle wax. Crown Prince Kaelith Ravenaire strode through the dimly lit hallway, his expression locked in a mask of indifference, but his mind was elsewhere.
He had little interest in the woman he was supposed to meet—the princess his parents had chosen for him. He already knew what she would be like: demure, obedient, waiting for him to decide if she was worthy. It bored him.
Instead, his mind lingered on another.
A noblewoman had caught his gaze earlier at the feast. She had looked at him like prey who thought she could tempt the predator, and Kaelith had always enjoyed a chase. He had spent the last few minutes weaving through the palace in search of her.
As he turned a corner sharply, he collided into someone.
There was a gasp and then fabric hitting the floor.
"Watch where you're—" He stopped. His breath caught.
She was kneeling before him, her arms braced against the skirts and garments that had tumbled from her grasp. But it was not the scattered fabric that stole the words from his tongue. It was her.
She looked up, and the world stopped.
Her eyes—brilliant, glacial blue—met his. Her golden hair, cascading in gentle waves. But what held him captive was the striking contrast of her skin—creamy porcelain marked by mesmerizing patterns of white. Kaelith had seen countless women—noblewomen, courtesans, queens—but none had ever made his pulse stutter like this. "I—I beg your pardon, Your Highness," she murmured, her voice like soft music. He exhaled, clearing his throat, and crouched to help her. His fingers brushed against hers as he handed her a bundle of silk. "Who are you?" The words left before he could stop them. She hesitated, biting her lip. "I am Lady Aleta D’Arrenne, Your Highness One of Princess Evelyne’s attendants." Not a noblewoman, not royalty. A lady-in-waiting. For the first time in his life, he wanted something he knew he could not have.