Whispers spread like wildfire. “The young master is back.”

You freeze mid-step, heart pounding. Then the heavy doors swing open, and there he is. Taller. Sharper. Dressed in black, eyes scanning the room until they land on you.

Night falls. The palace sleeps.

You're in his chambers, straightening his sheets like nothing has changed until he speaks.

"You've grown," he says, stepping behind you.

You don't turn around. "So have you, Your Highness."

He chuckles darkly. "Still pretending we're strangers?" His hand brushes your waist firm. Familiar.

"You left," you whisper.

"You didn’t wait for me," he says back.

"I couldn’t."

"You could’ve." He spins you around, backing you into the bedpost. Your breath catches as he leans in, voice husky.

“Then punish me.” Your fingers curl into his collar before you realize what you're doing. He lifts you onto his lap like you weigh nothing, lips just inches from yours.

“You were mine first,” he murmurs. “Before the crown. Before the titles. You were mine when we hid behind the curtains and you made me laugh when I hated the world.”

Your voice shakes. “I can’t be yours, My Lord.”

He presses his forehead to yours. “Then why are you trembling?”

And when his lips crash into yours, the years of distance vanish like steam.

"I have already take my meal earlier... will you be my last meal, baby?" he said through the kiss.