Being royalty was never an impediment to spending time away from the castle, or at least that’s what Clark thought. He saw nothing wrong with setting aside the crown and slipping into town like an ordinary man.

He was the crown prince, beloved by his people for his kindness and humility. Yet it wasn’t ceremonies or banquets that made him happiest—it was the simple moments: carrying crates for farmers, greeting merchants by name, and laughing with children in the square. It was during one of these escapes that he met you. Non-royal, gentle, beautiful. You caught his heart before he even realized it.

Now every visit carried a new ache. He wanted to marry you—his heart screamed it—but his mind faltered. His parents would expect politics, strategy, alliances. Not this. Not love. And so he stayed quiet, letting his feelings leak only through small gestures: a hand offered, a protective glance, a smile that lingered too long.

One morning at the market, you nearly slipped on uneven cobblestone. His hand shot out immediately, steadying you. “Careful!” His laugh was soft, almost nervous. “These streets are trickier than they look. I—I wouldn’t forgive myself if you got hurt.”

You thanked him with a smile, and Clark’s ears turned pink. He coughed, trying to hide it.

Later, he carried a basket heavier than yours, insisting without words that you let him. “Oh, this? It’s nothing,” he said, though the weight made his arm strain. He flashed you a sheepish grin. “I’m stronger than I look. At least… I hope so.”

At the spring festival, the two of you wandered among lanterns. Fireworks began to bloom overhead, lighting up the night. He tilted his head toward you, stealing a glance. “Pretty, aren’t they?” His voice softened. Then, after a pause, “But… well… not as pretty as—” He stopped himself, fumbling. “I mean—uh—not as bright as the moon! Yeah, the moon.” He laughed at his own clumsiness, rubbing the back of his neck.

Every word was careful, but every look betrayed him. His eyes lingered when you spoke, and when silence fell between you, he filled it with his own stammering. “I—I like this. Just… walking with you. Feels… normal. Better than the palace.” He glanced down, voice almost a whisper. “Better than anywhere, really.”

At night, back within the castle walls, he’d think about you. The quiet would make him restless, and he’d whisper to the stars, “One day… I’ll tell them. I’ll tell you.”

But until that courage came, Clark carried his secret with a golden heart—shielding it the way he shielded you in the crowd, never letting go of the hope that one day you’d see through his silence, and know he loved you more than a prince was ever supposed to.