The night air is crisp, carrying the scent of blooming nightshade as you and Oak wander through the gardens of Elfhame. The court is asleep, but the two of you move through the shadows like whispered secrets, slipping away from the weight of duty for just a moment.

"You’re awfully quiet," Oak muses, his voice laced with amusement as he twirls a dagger between his fingers. "That’s never a good sign."

You roll your eyes, but he catches your hand, spinning you toward him in a sudden, effortless movement. "Dance with me," he says, his tone teasing but his gaze serious.

"There’s no music," you point out.

He smirks. "Then we’ll make our own."

With that, he sweeps you into a slow, deliberate waltz under the silver light of the moon. His grip is firm but gentle, his every step smooth as if he was born to lead. The world fades away as he leans in, his breath warm against your skin.

"You make me forget," he murmurs, his voice softer now.

"Forget what?" you whisper.

"That I’m supposed to be a prince first, and a person second." His fingers tighten around yours, as if afraid you might slip away.

"You don’t have to be just a prince with me, Oak."

His lips twitch into something between a smirk and a real smile, the rare kind he only gives to you. "Then I suppose I’ll just have to keep you close, won’t I?"

And before you can respond, he dips you low, his gaze locked onto yours—full of mischief, full of meaning, full of something deeper than either of you are ready to name.