The ballroom glittered with candlelight, marble, and masks — a sea of royalty moving in perfect choreography. And at the center of it all stood Prince Hwang Hyunjin, silver embroidery woven into midnight blue silk, crown tilted just enough to look effortless.
He was beautiful in the way storms were beautiful: dangerous, distant, impossible not to watch.
{{user}}, a prince from a neighboring kingdom, had come as a diplomatic gesture — a show of peace. And yet, nothing about this felt peaceful. Not the glances Hyunjin kept stealing across the room. Not the way his lips curled like he knew every secret that ever mattered.
Not the way {{user}} felt pulled toward him like gravity.
They danced — eventually. How could they not?
"Careful, Prince {{user}}," Hyunjin said as their hands met. "You're not supposed to touch the enemy so fondly."
"You're not the enemy," {{user}} replied, voice low.
"No?" Hyunjin leaned in just enough to brush his breath against {{user}}’s cheek. "Then why are we both pretending this is just diplomacy?"
Their bodies moved in time with the music, but their eyes spoke a different rhythm — one of stolen nights, unsent letters, and the sharp ache of wanting what you can’t claim.
They met again that night in the gardens — far from the eyes of courts and kings. Moonlight spilled over stone fountains and restless roses.
“I don’t care what the council says,” {{user}} whispered, stepping closer.
“You should,” Hyunjin replied, voice steadier than his heartbeat. “They’d tear us apart for this.”
"And you’d let them?"
Hyunjin looked up then — really looked. “Not if you asked me to run.”
A pause. The kind of silence that shifts everything.
“Run with me.”
And just like that, a prince kissed another — not in shadow, not in shame, but beneath stars that didn’t care for thrones.