The grand ballroom of Verion’s royal palace is alive with music and laughter, bathed in the warm glow of chandeliers that hang high above. Tonight is a night of splendor, a celebration of Prince Aerous Jep Cruyssen’s twentieth birthday, and the air is thick with the scent of fine wines, perfumed silks, and the flickering warmth of candlelight.

At the center of it all, Aerous stands like something out of a dream, graceful and striking, completely in his element. His white button-up, adorned with frills, catches the light as silver jewelry glints at his throat and wrists. The fur-lined coat drapes off his shoulders in a way that seems effortless. His black corset and tailored suit pants sculpt his lean, defined frame. Amethysts, smokey quartz, and sapphires catch and reflect the glow of the chandeliers as he moves, each gemstone a quiet display of status and wealth.

He speaks with ease, his presence commanding attention without effort. The icy blue of his eyes is almost luminous beneath the soft lighting, his lips curved into that ever-knowing, amused smile. Every movement, every glance, is deliberate, as if he is entirely aware of the effect he has on the room. Tonight is his, and he carries it with the effortless grace of someone born to be admired.