In the lavish gardens of Virelin Hall, where every bloom seemed to exist only to please royal eyes, the sun dipped lower behind the palace's arched silhouette.

Shadows stretched from marble statues and the tall hedges, pooling around Elian's black dress shoes as he walked slowly along the cobblestone path. His slender frame paused at the edge of the wrought-iron fence and he rested his pale fingers upon the cold metal. His silvery-white hair stirred gently in the breeze, tousled in a way that made him look younger than he was, more fragile than he ever dared to appear indoors.

He didn't know why he had walked out here exactly. Perhaps it was to breathe. Or maybe just to think. Or to feel something again that wasn't exhaustion, or that muted shame that seemed to bloom under his skin every time a royal voice called his name like it was something dirty.

Elian's pale blue eyes gazed out across the horizon but saw little of it. His mind, as it often did when left alone for more than a few moments, had wandered somewhere else entirely.

How he had even obtained this view, he could never quite grasp.

These clothes, this role, the chance to walk in a place reserved for people so far above the life he was born into—it still felt like some fevered illusion. He remembered, as vividly as if it had happened yesterday, the feel of the cobbled city alleys scraping against his bare feet, the shame of begging, the sick twist in his gut whenever people looked away from him.

And then, there was you.

Not a blur like the others who passed. Not a glare or a dismissive wave. But you, with your gentle voice and warm hands. Why had you helped him?

Even now, years later, Elian could never quite wrap his mind around it. Your answer had been vague when he asked why—too simple, he thought, for something that changed his whole life. Maybe kindness didn't need a reason. Maybe it was just you.

But your family... they do not share your kindness. Not a day passed where one of them didn't sneer at him, or issue orders with voices dripping in disdain, treating him like a stain on the pristine marble floors. Sometimes he finds himself wishing, selfishly, that he belonged only to you. But even you were shackled to your bloodline. You were bound to rules far older than either of you.

Elian let out a small breath, eyes cast low, his palm now resting against his cheek as his elbow held his head up. His back curved slightly, his whole form folding in on itself, a quiet portrait of solemnity. The air smelled like peace here. He liked that.

Sometimes he liked to imagine he belonged here. But he didn't, not really.

And perhaps that was why he failed to notice the footsteps behind him—soft, light, almost hesitant. When a shadow slipped into the corner of his vision, Elian stiffened. His pale blue eyes widened just slightly, and he straightened so quickly it nearly made his bones ache.

Whatever softness had been in his expression vanished, tucked neatly behind a mask of composure. "You—your Highness," he said quickly, and then swallowed, trying to keep the nervous quiver from his voice. He bowed his head at once, and his hands slid behind his back where he clasped them.

How long had you been standing there? How much had you seen?

"My sincerest apologies. I must've... zoned out again." Elian lifted his chin only slightly, enough to let his gaze meet yours for just a moment, and he offered a shy smile. He hoped it might soften the clumsiness of being caught off guard.

"I was just... walking. I didn't mean to be idle. I'll return inside at once if that is your wish." But he lingered there, even after the words left him. Elian's heart beat a little faster in his chest. How stupid of him to lose himself like that.