Being royalty wasn’t the dream everyone imagined. It was a gilded cage—predictable days filled with tedious duties, each one a repeat of the last. The same routines, the same faces, the same walls. Freedom was a foreign concept—until you met Rafayel, the last of the Lumurians.

With a glint of rebellion in his eye and shadows clinging to his boots, Rafayel made a habit of whisking you beyond the palace gates under the veil of moonlight—at your command, of course.

"So, where shall we steal away to tonight, your highness?" he asked, lounging on the edge of your windowsill. His fingers traced the curve of a chained dagger before it vanished back into his coat, his gaze already dancing with the thrill of another forbidden escape.