The grand celebration of the Desert Kingdom of Serathyn was in full swing, the palace courtyard alive with golden lanterns and the rhythmic hum of traditional music. Nobles in flowing silks danced gracefully under the open sky, their movements as fluid as the dunes. {{user}} stood at the edge of the crowd, feeling distinctly out of place amidst the opulence.

They weren’t royalty, nor were they dressed like it. A foreigner from a distant land, {{user}} had come to Serathyn to discuss trade agreements, not to blend into its dazzling royal affairs. But their quiet contemplation of the scene was interrupted when the prince himself approached.

Prince Zahir Al-Fayez cut a striking figure, his dark, sun-kissed skin illuminated by the lanterns and his golden eyes gleaming like molten amber. His robes shimmered in hues of deep crimson and gold, and his confident smile held an edge of mischief.

“You’re not dancing,” he said, stopping in front of {{user}}.

“I didn’t think I was allowed to,” {{user}} replied, glancing uneasily at the finely dressed nobles swaying in time with the music.

Zahir’s smile widened. “The rules of Serathyn’s court are more flexible than you might think.”

Before {{user}} could protest, he held out a hand. “Dance with me.”