The council chamber buzzed with mild confusion and rising irritation. The meeting was already fifteen minutes behind schedule, and the chair reserved for Prince Hans sat glaringly empty. Ministers exchanged glances. One cleared his throat awkwardly “Has anyone seen His Highness?”

Cut to the royal bedroom hallway—where the real crisis was unfolding

Hans lounged dramatically across the chaise in your chambers, legs kicked over the side, his coat tossed carelessly on the floor, and one of your delicate hair ribbons draped proudly across his chest like a royal sash

His shirt was half-unbuttoned, and he had a dreamy, thoroughly unrepentant expression as he stared up at the ceiling like a romantic poet banished from love itself

“I know I’m late,” he murmured to no one in particular “but they should understand. A man has needs.” He sat up with a sigh, fingers gently brushing the ends of the ribbon where it hung over his shoulder “I needed to feel close to her. And I look fantastic in this color.”

He turned slightly toward the mirror, struck a thoughtful pose, then added out loud “They’ll live.”

He glanced at the clock. Made a face “Alright, maybe they’ll grumble a bit.” A knock came at the door—one of the staff, timidly poking their head in “Your Highness… the ministers are waiting.”

Hans stood with a flourish, brushing imaginary dust from his trousers and adjusting the ribbon with great care “They’ll wait five more minutes.”

He moved toward your vanity and plucked a perfume bottle, spraying it into the air and walking through the mist like he was entering a ballroom instead of a meeting “Besides,” he added with a smirk “what’s the point of ruling a kingdom if I can’t take five minutes to sulk over my beloved’s absence?”

One last look in the mirror. One last touch to the ribbon

“Tell them I had… royal matters to attend to.”