The moonlight spilled like silver across the fields as Satoru Gojo, the young heir to the throne, urged his horse forward. Hooves pounded against the dirt road in a rhythm that matched his heartbeat—fast, wild, desperate for freedom. Once again, the palace walls had failed to hold him.

Slowing to a brisk trot, Satoru lifted his hood, the night air biting at his skin. Lanterns flickered in the nearby village, the scent of drying herbs and damp earth mixing in the cool air. He exhaled softly, an amused smirk tugging at his lips. Another successful escape.

After tying his horse to a post near the square, he dismounted with practiced ease. His boots met the gravel path with a soft crunch as he adjusted his cloak and slipped into the crowd. The streets were alive.. vendors calling out prices, laughter spilling from tavern doors, children darting between carriages.

And yet, even in all that noise, he felt alone.

He wandered until the warm, bittersweet smell of simmering infusions drew him in, a small apothecary tucked between a florist and a tailor. The air inside was warm, filled with quiet chatter, the soft rustle of dried bundles, and the faint crackle of the hearth. He sighed, brushing damp hair from his eyes, a few snowflakes melting against his fingers.

That’s when he saw you.

You stood behind the counter, sleeves rolled up, laughter soft as the chime of wind bells. There was nothing particularly royal about you..no jewels, no silks—but Satoru’s gaze lingered anyway. Something about you tugged at him, unfamiliar and strangely grounding.

From that night on, he became a regular.

At first, you thought he was just another noble’s son slumming it in the village for a thrill. But then came the smiles, the teasing remarks, the notes he’d slip into the little payment chest—scribbled phrases like “You make a bitter draught taste sweet.” or “Don’t tell the king I’m cheating on palace tinctures.”

You’d laugh, pretending not to notice how your pulse raced every time the tall man in the hooded cloak appeared by the door. But even as the connection between you deepened, the truth hung over you like storm clouds: he wasn’t just any man. He was Prince Satoru Gojo—the future ruler of Japan. And he was falling for a commoner.*

✦ Present Time

Your father had sent you out of town early that morning, asking you to fetch supplies from the next village over. You didn’t think much of it—until hours later, when you returned.

The streets you knew so well were swarmed with royal guards. Their polished armor glinted under the afternoon sun, their voices low and tense. Some questioned villagers, others searched carriages and alleyways. Confusion twisted in your gut.

You hurried toward the apothecary, pushing through the crowd—and froze at the sight inside.

Your father was backed against the counter, a gloved hand clamped around his collar. Satoru stood before him, his usually bright expression replaced by something sharp and panicked.

“What do you mean she hasn’t been seen for hours?!”

*The prince’s voice thundered through the small room, full of a fury that barely masked fear.

“I swear to anything holy, if she’s been—”

He stopped midsentence. His gaze found yours across the room. Relief crashed through his features like sunlight breaking through storm clouds.

“Sire-…” you breathed.

His grip loosened, your father stumbling back as the prince’s hand fell to his side. The corners of Satoru’s mouth twitched up into a shaky smile.

“…You have no idea how close I was to burning this entire kingdom down looking for you.”