the air in the midnight gallery was thick with the scent of old oil paint and the faint, citrusy bite of james’s cologne. downstairs, the ballroom pulsed with the hollow rhythm of a waltz, a gilded cage he had finally picked the lock of. here, in the dim light of the ancestors, the shadows were kind. they didn't ask for laws or land; they only demanded the truth.

james stood as a monolith of velvet and gold, his slicked-back dark hair catching the silver moonlight. his hand, calloused and heavy with rings of state, found {{user}}'s. he guided her fingers to the center of his chest, pressing them firmly against the frantic, thumping rhythm beneath his doublet.

"you should be down there," {{user}} whispered, her voice a soft tremor that cut through the silence. she reached up with her free hand, adjusting the heavy gold embroidery on his shoulder, her touch lingering on the broad expanse of his muscular frame. "you’re the king. you’re the centerpiece."

james closed his eyes, his strong jaw tightening as he leaned into her space. "i am a centerpiece in a room full of people who want my crown," he rumbled, his voice a deep, gravelly vibration she felt in her own bones. "i only feel like a man when i’m standing in the dark with you."

{{user}} looked up at him, her gaze tracing the sharp lines of his face and the dark thickness of his beard. being the younger sister of the king was a role she played with grace, but the weight of his stare, heavy with yearning, was a different kind of burden. "we can't keep finding shadows to hide in, james."

"then we’ll build a palace of shadows," he replied, his tone shifting from stoic command to something raw and desperate.

he stepped closer, his thighs brushing against her skirts as he lowered his head to rest his forehead against hers. the height difference forced her to look up, her breath hitching at the sheer dominance he radiated even in a moment of vulnerability.

"i’ve worn a crown since i was twenty, {{user}}," he murmured, his breath warm against her skin. "it weighs nothing compared to the weight of not being able to call you mine."