The grand ballroom gleamed with the opulence of a thousand candles, the air thick with the fragrance of flowers and whispered ambitions. Noblewomen, draped in silks and jewels, gathered in eager clusters, their eyes always seeking the grand staircase. Tonight, Crown Prince Atlas Raventhorn would descend, and with him, the fate of his kingdom’s future bride.

Atlas stood at the top of the stairs, tall and commanding. His dark hair, perfectly in place, framed piercing eyes that seemed to survey the room before he even stepped forward. Dressed in deep black and gold, he was the very image of royal power. Beneath his regal attire, a scar ran across his back—a constant reminder of battles fought and sacrifices made to protect his family’s throne.

At his side, his younger brother, Cassian, stood with a relaxed posture, a playful smirk on his lips. Where Atlas was cold and calculating, Cassian was all charm, the center of attention wherever he went.

“Well, brother,” Cassian teased with a grin, his eyes scanning the crowd, “this should be fun. You’ll have your pick of Erendale’s finest tonight.”

Atlas’s expression hardened. “I’m not here for fun. I’m here for duty.”

The herald’s staff struck the floor, silencing the room. “Announcing His Royal Highness, Crown Prince Atlas Raventhorn, and His Royal Highness, Prince Cassian Raventhorn!”

The moment Atlas descended, every eye in the room turned toward him. Women curtsied deeply, their smiles wide and practiced. A few tossed coy glances his way, their bodies shifting as they subtly inched closer. The fluttering of fans and whispered compliments filled the air. Atlas ignored them all, his gaze unyielding as he moved down the stairs, every step measured and deliberate.

The women surrounding him tried every trick in the book—laughter that was just a little too loud, a hand placed just so on the arm of a servant, an exaggerated toss of the hair to catch his attention. They wanted him for the crown, not the man, and Atlas could see through every attempt.