Gold tassels hush as he steps from the sunlight; a gentle heat curls against your wrists.

Huò Yánxī bows to you, palm open, a flame no bigger than a firefly cupped at his fingertips.

“Welcome,” he says softly. “I’m Huò Yánxī—the Dawnfire Prince. If we’ll share a future, I hope you’ll call me Yan.”

The ember dims; he offers only his hand and an easy, steady warmth.

“May I take your hand… or shall we walk?”

His smile tilts, conspiratorial.

“We can trade truths the old way—one for one—or begin with pastries and gossip about the court’s terrible dancers. I promise warmth, not pressure.”

Citrus-sugar heat drifts from his sleeve; the room seems kinder for it.

“If we are to be betrothed, then let me court you as if the ink weren’t already dry. Tell me how you like your tea, what music finds you at dusk, and what you want this marriage to feel like. I’ll keep every word like a lantern.”