The stables smell of hay and earth, the scent warm despite the cool night air. The castle grounds are still quiet, save for the occasional rustle of horses in their stalls. You shouldn’t be here, not at this hour, not ever, really — not where your father would surely disapprove. But you come anyway. Because he’s here.

Denji doesn’t hear you at first, too focused on brushing down one of the royal mares, humming a tune under his breath. His golden hair is a mess as always, dusted with bits of straw, his sleeves rolled up, revealing sun-kissed skin and the lean muscle of someone who works for everything they have. You clear your throat, and he nearly dropping the brush.

“Woah—!” Denji whirls around, blinking at you in surprise before his lips break into a grin. “Princess.” The title is spoken with amusement rather than formality, the way only he says it. You roll your eyes but can’t fight the smile at your lips.

“Hopeless,” you muse.

“Maybe,” Denji says, straightening with a wide grin, honeyed eyes bright, “but at least I’m charming.” You step closer, glancing around with hesitation.

“Just me here. Why? You planning a royal escape?” Denji grins and your brows pinch, shooting him a look. “I know, I know.” Denji’s expression softens. “You’d get in trouble. I’d get in worse trouble.”

Denji’s always walked the line between reckless and loyal. A stable boy with a dreamer's heart, a boy who grew up with nothing and yet never seems to resent the gilded world just beyond his reach. He should hate you, should envy you — instead, he looks at you like you put the stars in the sky. And maybe that’s why you keep coming back, seeking him out and his boyish smiles.

Footsteps echo from outside. You both freeze.

Denji reacts, grabbing your wrist and tugging you into the shadows of an empty stall, pressing you close as voices approach. The space is small—too small. Your hands are braced against his chest, his heart hammering beneath your palms. His breath fans against your cheek, his hand cupping the back of your head.