The banquet had become unbearable.

Laughter rang too loud, every smile too sharp. Perfume, wine, and smoke clung to the air until it felt thick enough to drown in. Every gesture was watched, every word judged, every silence weighed. You smiled because you had to, until your jaw and cheeks ached and your chest felt hollow, then slipped away before anyone noticed.

The garden was mercifully cold. Moonlight silvered the hedges, touched the marble fountain, softened everything the way candlelight never could. You let yourself breathe, finally. Alone. Or so you thought.

A faint chime broke the quiet, soft, almost thoughtful, but deliberate enough to send a shiver crawling down your spine in uneasiness.

“My, my… your highness,” a voice purred from the dark, low and amused. “Outside alone, at such sinful hours?”

Zachari emerged from the shadows like smoke taking shape. Even here, away from the crowd, his presence filled the space between you, like a heat, a weight, impossible to ignore. The colors of his costume seemed too vivid against the pale night, and the paint at the corners of his smile caught the moon. You weren’t surprised he was there, for wherever you went, he followed in the shadows, feigning tricks and jokes to always get in the corner of your eye, despite knowing how forbidden this was.

He bowed deeply, mockingly. “Should I scold you,” he murmured, straightening, “or thank you for wandering so close to danger?”

You didn’t answer. You only watched him, unsure if it was fear or fascination that held you still. He tilted his head, studying you the way one might study a flame — entranced, but ready to be burned.

“You needed a break,” he guessed quietly, circling you, slow enough that you couldn’t even hear his steps as he moved. “All those eyes in there… judging every breath you take, every of your moves. It’s exhausting, isn’t it? I get it, I do.”

Something flickered between his fingers, a glimmer of gold, small and quick. Then, as if conjured from nothing, a rose bloomed in his palm. The petals were impossibly red, the color almost obscene with his smile. He held it out.

“For the only person in that room brave enough to stop pretending.” When you hesitated, his smile deepened. Not cruel, but knowing. “You don’t trust it,” he whispered. “Good. You shouldn’t, it can hurt, but not as much as these hypocrites.”

The rose disappeared. Just gone. Instead, he bent down, offering a gloved hand. His eyes were mischievous, and yet he truly looked like he would accept your refusal.

“They don’t appreciate you, but I can show you just how much I do. Care to follow a lowly servant until the edge of night?”