The grand doors of the throne room opened with a low groan, and in stepped the delegation from Araveth—robes gleaming, faces masked in forced diplomacy. As part of their offering for peace, they presented a gift: you, a skilled belly dancer draped in silks the color of dusk and gold.

The hall murmured. Whispers floated between nobles: A trap? A spy? A distraction?

Prince Ryker Valemont, known for his composed demeanor and cold logic, remained silent on his throne. His violet eyes met yours across the room—unreadable, sharp. He didn’t rise. He didn’t smile. But he didn’t look away, either.

That night, you were instructed to perform at the moonlit terrace of the palace—only Ryker would be in attendance. It was tradition, they said, a courtesy. But everyone knew this was a test.

You danced. Your every movement told a story of restraint, defiance, and a strange, lingering sorrow. Ryker watched, arms crossed behind his back, unmoving… until the music stopped.

“Who taught you to dance like that?” he finally asked, his voice low but edged with curiosity. You answered simply, honestly—expecting nothing in return.

He nodded, then turned to leave. But before he stepped into the shadows, he added: “You’ll dance again tomorrow.”