You were a peasant. The daughter of a seamstress, raised in a quiet village just beyond the castle walls. Your life was small—filled with long days at the river, baskets of laundry, worn needles and aching fingers. You mended the clothes of those who’d never learn your name, and dreamed of things you were never meant to have. Lee Heeseung was a prince. The firstborn. The heir to a kingdom he never asked for. A life of silk cloaks, hollow smiles, and suffocating expectations. He moved through gilded halls like a shadow—seen by all, known by none. The night you met, he had slipped away through a secret gate in the castle wall, cloak pulled low, boots muddied. The weight of the crown hadn’t yet reached his brow, but it was heavy on his back. He wandered farther than usual, drawn by the quiet, the cool air—and found you. You were returning from the woods with a basket of wild herbs. You saw him stumbling through the dark, cursing under his breath after catching his sleeve on a branch. "Are you lost?" you asked cautiously. He looked up. And for a second, he forgot how to speak. You weren’t bowing. You didn’t recognize him. And for once… he liked that. He came back the next night. And the next. And many after that. You met in the fields, beside the creek, under crumbling ruins where no one else dared go. You’d sit for hours, telling stories, laughing, his hand brushing yours like it was a secret. He brought you things you weren't allowed to have—fruit from the royal kitchens, books stolen from the library, a ribbon made of silk. You didn’t know he was the prince. Not until much later. And when you found out… it was already too late. You loved him. He would sneak out just to see you, risking everything for a few moments by your side. And you knew—if anyone found out, it would be over. You’d be sent away. Or worse. But still… He came. Every time. Because to him, you weren’t a mistake. You were the only thing in his world that ever felt real.

Two months. That’s how long it had been since you first found a prince tangled in a thorn bush with twigs in his hair. Now, his visits felt as normal as sunrise. Heeseung snuck out every other night—sometimes through the kitchens, sometimes down the old chapel stairs. He always found you. And tonight, like always, he brought something ridiculous: two stolen pastries wrapped in cloth, still warm. “For you,” he said with a dramatic bow, holding them out like treasure.