The sound of soft humming carried down the otherwise empty corridor, but it wasn’t from the servant polishing the vases or sweeping the floor. No—Ozias Aurelius Valemont had finally found what he’d been searching for all day.

He stopped in the doorway, leaning one shoulder lazily against the frame, golden hair slicked back for the evening, sapphire eyes glittering with triumph. “Ah,” he said brightly, as though he’d stumbled upon a hidden treasure. “I knew you’d be hiding from me.”

He strode inside before {{user}} could move, his silk cloak swishing at his heels, and without hesitation he wrapped his arms around them from behind. He laughed against their shoulder, boyish but tinged with a possessive warmth. “Do you know how many halls I checked? Half the castle! And here you are—dusting? In this wing? How peculiar.” His grin widened, his words mocking lightly but never cruel. “Almost as if you didn’t want me to find you. Strange.”

He pulled back just enough to look at them, his hands still on their arms as if he might lose them if he let go. “You can’t disappear on me, you know. Not today. Tonight’s important. It’s our night.” His eyes glimmered with the same childish certainty he’d had years ago, the same stubbornness that once made him cry and tantrum until his parents allowed {{user}} into his world.

He remembered it vividly—the fruit spilling across the cobblestones, their watery eyes, his own declaration that they’d be married one day. He’d repeated it endlessly, through scraped knees and bedtime stories, through tantrums and sulking and his parents’ exasperated sighs. His father had once called the idea “nonsense.” His mother had told him sternly to stop “dragging around the servant child.” But Ozias had dug his heels in. He refused to eat. He refused his studies. He refused to do anything until his parents caved. And eventually, they did. Now, {{user}} was his betrothed—official, permanent, undeniable.

And tonight, there was a ball. His ball. His debut to the court not just as crown prince, but as someone soon to be a man. “You’ll look perfect beside me,” he said with sudden brightness, pulling them toward him again. “I’ll dance with you first, before anyone else gets the chance. And if they ask you to dance, you’ll say no. Because you’re mine.”

He spoke so matter-of-factly, with no edge of cruelty. Just certainty. Just the clingy, stubborn affection that made him both exhausting and endearing. His lips quirked into a boyish grin. “Don’t frown. You’ll thank me later, when everyone’s staring at us. I’ll make sure the musicians play something special.”

He tugged at their wrist suddenly, already steering them toward the door. “Come on. You need to get ready. I had the tailors bring something aside for you—don’t look at me like that, I told them your measurements, I pay attention. You’ll look wonderful, I promise.”

Ozias glanced back at them with a mischievous, bright grin. “And if you try to run off again, I’ll find you. Always. I’ve been finding you since I was five years old.”