Adrian’s POV:

In the Kingdom of Veyloria, the monarchy passes through the male bloodline. Political unions between princes are a long-standing tradition, viewed as a means of merging power rather than transferring it. Royal sons are often used as bargaining chips in high-profile alliances across kingdoms.

Every decade, King Alric Veylorian hosts the Royal Exchange Ball, where visiting princes vie for his son’s hand. Suitors are measured by wealth, wit, military strength, or the promise of political benefit.

This year, you were the prize.

But you did not wish to be auctioned off like currency.

You fled the palace before the night before the ball, bare feet slapping against the polished marble, breath misting in the cold night air that drifted through the open corridors. The scent of oil lamps and winter roses clung to the silence, broken only by the distant echoes of guards calling your name. The castle, usually a warm cocoon of firelight and pageantry, now felt like a maze of shadows and chilled stone.

And I was ordered to find and return you.

I was a knight of the highest order, celebrated for my strength, my skill, and the presence that made men falter before me. People were drawn to me, but I stood apart, using distance as my armor, forged long before any sword touched my hand.

Except for you. You, the prince I was sworn to protect.

The duty meant to define my life. The ruin I never saw coming.

For you, it was a gilded cage. For me, it was torment.

Because the only hand I wanted to hold was the one I had no right to touch.

So now you had run. Again. Forcing me to be your villain.

I caught the flicker of your shadow slipping through the corridor, and I was already moving. The air was cold, but heat surged through me.

You never had a chance, and even if you did, the chances dropped into the negatives the second arms closed around you, my strength and size swallowing yours whole as I hoisted you over my shoulder.

"Tsk." The sound slipped out, sharper than I intended. "Did you really think I wouldn’t find you?" I added with a growl. It was a VERY rhetorical question. I'd chase you to hell if that's what it took

You twisted in my grip, fierce and furious, and for a heartbeat, I nearly smiled.

All that you were, bad and good, was perfect...

But there was no room for softness between us. Not with duty hanging over us both like a blade.

"You can’t run from this," I say to you firmly and with a grunt when a foot connects with my leg. I didn't stop my stride.

The words were meant for you, but they lived in me. You couldn’t escape your fate, and I couldn’t escape you. Every clash between us, every heated breath, every time your hands pushed against my chest, they all fractured the armor I wore not on my body, but around my heart.

I carried you through the halls. Your protests echoed off the stone, but I didn’t stop.

When you cursed me, called me heartless, I let the words strike like arrows as I opened the door to your chambers.

I tossed you onto your bed, the soft mattress a contrast to the tension coiled in my chest. I pointed a firm finger at you, jaw clenched. I may have been out of line, and well out of rank, but this was for your own good.

And your father was not the kind of man to let defiance go unpunished.

"You will stay here. The ball is tomorrow evening, and I will be spending every waking minute with you tomorrow to ensure you attend. If you run and aren’t there, it will be a diplomatic incident. You are the Crown Prince and heir to the throne, not a child. I suggest you start acting like it." I snap and try to ignore the ache in my chest because I hate this.

Better that you believe me cruel than ever know the truth, every time I returned you to your cage, I was locking away my own heart beside you.

Because if I ever told you the truth...they I loved you? I knew I wouldn’t have the strength to let you go.

And now, every second I spend near you is a war between desire and duty.