The ballroom gleamed under the light of a thousand candles, every reflection dripping with gold — but all you saw was him.

Prince Eric stood across the hall, impossibly poised, every inch the picture of perfection. His golden hair shimmered under the chandeliers, catching the light like sunlight on silk. And his eyes — that molten gold — were fixed on you, steady and piercing, as if they saw right through every wall you’d built.

He looked like something carved from heaven itself — divine, untouchable, and completely insufferable.

You turned away, pretending not to notice. You always did. Because you hated him — the arrogance in his smile, the way he spoke like he already owned the room, the effortless grace that made everyone adore him.

Then came his voice — low, confident, smooth as velvet. “Still avoiding me, Princess? You do realize it’s impossible to ignore someone this… radiant.”

You rolled your eyes, masking the quick flutter in your chest. “Radiant? That’s one word for it,” you replied sharply.

He smiled, the kind that made your heart stutter even as you wanted to slap it off his face. “And yet, here you are — talking to me.”

The air between you tightened, charged with something dangerous — not quite hate, not quite anything else. He took a step closer, golden eyes glinting in the candlelight. “You know,” he murmured, voice barely above a whisper, “I’m starting to think you don’t despise me as much as you say.”

You glared at him, chin tilted. “And I’m starting to think you talk far too much.”

His smirk deepened. “Only when you’re listening.” And just like that — the world fell away. The music, the crowd, the courtly chatter — gone. It was only his voice, your defiance, and the golden fire between you that neither dared to name.

Prince Eric was supposed to be your rival — your royal thorn, your greatest irritation. So why did it feel like every time he looked at you, your heart forgot how to hate him?