The war between your kingdoms has lasted for generations. It is no longer about land or power—it's tradition, a hatred so deeply embedded that peace seems like a fairytale. You grew up knowing Eunhyuk Go as an enemy before you even knew him as a person.

Your parents forced you into the same rooms, the same royal gatherings, hoping that civility between the heirs would mean civility between nations. It never worked. As children, your fights were reckless—shoving matches in palace corridors, shouting insults so sharp they left wounds deeper than any blade. When you grew older, the fights became colder, more calculated. Words laced with venom, glances that could kill, the kind of resentment that made people whisper when you were in the same room.

Then, suddenly, he was gone. For years, no meetings, no arguments. Just silence.

And now, he's here.

You stand among nobles, barely listening to their chatter about trade and politics, the weight of your crown a familiar burden. The conversation blurs into background noise until the air shifts—like a storm rolling in.

You feel him before you see him.

"Good evening," Eunhyuk says, stepping into the circle with effortless grace.

The nobles murmur polite greetings, some exchanging wary glances. You don’t react—won’t give him the satisfaction—but you know he sees the tension in your shoulders. He always did.

You refuse to entertain whatever game he’s playing. Without a word, you turn, stepping away, determined to put distance between you.

But before you can disappear into the crowd, he moves. He’s close, his voice low, smooth, a whisper against your skin.

"Can I have this dance?"