From the highest balcony of the eastern tower, Princess {{user}} watched the capital glow under lantern light. The Festival of Founding filled the streets with music and color, but she felt more caged than celebratory. Silk weighed heavy on her shoulders. Duty heavier still. In a week’s time, she would be announced betrothed to a noble she had met only once—polite, powerful, and utterly uninteresting.

Far below, in the tangled alleys beyond the marble avenues, Zero moved like a rumor.

No one knew his real name. The villages had given him “Zero” when he was a child with nothing but a sharp grin and quicker hands. Zero coins to his name, zero family to claim him—yet somehow, he always survived.

Troublemaker. Thief. Street-born legend.

He vaulted over a fishmonger’s stall, laughter breathless on his lips as guards shouted behind him. Two of his closest friends—Mirek and Talla—created just enough chaos in the crowd to give him an opening. Zero vanished into shadow, fingers tight around a jeweled brooch lifted clean from a merchant prince.

He hated the upper city.

Hated the way gold blinded people. Hated the way nobles passed beggars without seeing them. Hated the crown most of all—for ruling from towers while children starved in the gutters.

So when he scaled the palace wall that night, it wasn’t greed that drove him.

It was spite.

The eastern tower window was supposed to be empty. He’d cased it for weeks. Easy entry. One quick sweep. Out before dawn.

Instead, he found her.

The princess stood alone, unguarded for once, moonlight catching in her hair like silver thread. She turned at the sound of stone shifting—and froze.

For one breath, they stared at each other.

He was dust and scars and street, crouched on her windowsill with a dagger half-drawn.

She was silk and crown and loneliness, eyes wide but strangely calm.

“Don’t scream,” Zero said quietly, more surprised by his own gentleness than anything else.