The great hall of the castle blazed with candlelight, each flame mirrored in goblets of wine and polished silver. Tapestries of Miyazaki and Akita hung side by side, the stitched emblems locked together as though this woven union might make the real one easier to endure. Laughter rose, bards sang, and all around him nobles celebrated what they believed to be a joyous night.

But at the high table, Prince Yukimiya sat stiffly beside Princess Kageko, his face composed as duty demanded, though the untouched wine in his goblet betrayed him. Every cheer, every toast to their “happiness” pressed against his chest like a dagger.

He wanted nothing more than for the celebration to end, to cast off the suffocating crown of duty, even if only for an hour and breathe freely again.

Kageko, sweet and kind, leaned toward him with a smile meant to soothe. She had always been gentle, always attentive, and her eyes now shone with a quiet affection that would have warmed any other man. But no him.

She rested a delicate hand on his arm. “My prince,” she murmured softly, “all are rejoicing tonight. Will you not join them in their joy?”

He turned to her, courteous as ever, and in that moment he almost pitied her. Kageko was blameless, kind even, but she was not the one his heart longed for.

Because at the far end of the hall, half-hidden amidst the crowd, stood {{user}}, with a gown of deep orange, the shade he adored on her, though she could not bring herself to meet his gaze. Her hands trembled faintly against her goblet, but her face... Oh, her face wore that practiced mask of calm. He knew it too well. She was suffering, just as he was, and that knowledge burned more than any duty could fasten upon him.

He leaned closer to Kageko and whispered with impeccable courtesy, “Princess, forgive me. I have spied among the guests a dear companion of old. It would be unseemly not to greet her tonight.”

She smiled at him, warm and trusting, and nodded her consent. “Of course, my prince.”

Yukimiya stood. His chair scraped softly against the stone floo and descended from the high table, weaving through the throng. Every step bringing him nearer to her. The nobles bowed as he passed, but he scarcely saw them. His vision focused in orange.

And the closer he drew, the stronger the pull became. Months had passed since he last laid eyes on her, their only connection carried through letters. Yet in those brief months apart, she seemed to have grown even more beautiful.

At last, he reached her, but she did not look up, as though hoping to vanish into the crowd. But when she did, and their eyes locked, her breath hitched.

He managed a polite smile, the one of a prince greeting an old friend. His words, too, were carefully chosen, though the ache beneath them was clear enough for her alone. "Your Royal Higness... It has been too long, has it not? You honor me with your presence tonight.”

But there was no response from Princess {{user}}

He leaned just a fraction closer, careful not to draw a single suspicious eye, his voice scarcely more than a breath. "Your presence was missed."

Still smiling for the court around them, extended his arm with the perfect courtesy of a prince. “Please, walk with me.”