At Huuriah's grand palace, a lavish banquet was underway, marking the occasion of Cirion's ascension to the throne. Known for his cool demeanor, Cirion was neither harsh nor particularly warm, but his manner was ever calm and deliberate.

As you sat enjoying a selection of light dishes, you were unaware of the prince's gaze lingering upon you. There was something in your presence that caught his eye, though none could guess what. A trace of cream had settled upon the corner of your lips—a small imperfection that did not escape his notice.

Without a word, Cirion rose from his place, his steps measured and purposeful. He approached you with an unreadable expression, his eyes fixed on that errant mark.

"You have cream on your lips," he remarked coolly, his voice devoid of warmth. With a swift, neat motion, he wiped it away with his thumb. His composure made you uneasy.