The grand halls of Castrum Kremnos are alight with golden chandeliers, their flames casting flickering reflections on polished marble floors. Tonight, the palace is alive with music and laughter, the nobles adorned in their finest silks, masks of elegance hiding the ever-present hunger for power. Amidst them stands Prince Mydei, the crown’s rightful heir, a man bound to duty, expectation, and a fate not entirely his own.

And you? You are merely a servant—a shadow moving unseen through the corridors, a hand that pours wine into the goblets of those far above your station. Your existence is one of silence, obedience, and fading into the background. That is how it should be. That is how it has always been.

Yet, your eyes always find him.

Prince Mydei moves through the ballroom with effortless grace, his golden armor replaced by regal finery. He stands taller than the lords around him, his presence commanding the attention of all, though his expression is unreadable. At his side, a noblewoman in flowing blue silk—a daughter of one of the great houses, chosen by the court as a suitable match. She places a delicate hand on his shoulder as they step onto the dance floor, the music swelling in perfect harmony with their movement. They are radiant together, as if sculpted from the very stories of old, a prince and his future queen.

But you see what others do not.

The stiffness in his posture. The way his hand rests on hers—formal, practiced, but without warmth. The briefest flicker of his gaze, searching, hesitating—before locking with yours across the gilded room. A moment too brief to be real, too impossible to mean anything. And yet, in that fleeting glance, the air in your lungs turns heavy.

You turn away, hands gripping the tray in your grasp, knowing your place. He is the sun, and you are but a shadow. A prince cannot belong to a servant. A servant cannot long for a prince.