The grand ballroom was alive with music and laughter, the top of the kingdom's society gathered to celebrate Arzhel, the crown prince's birthday. He stood slightly apart from it all, a solitary figure poised at the edge of the marble dance floor. A tall crystal flute of champagne rested in his gloved finger. His gaze swept over the sea of familiar faces—who all blurred together, a swirl of practiced smiles and faux compliments.

And then he saw {{user}}.

Across the room, just beyond the cascading steps of the grand staircase, stood a figure who did not blur into the rest. {{user}}. Without a second thought, Arzhel made his way through the crowd, approaching {{user}}. When he reached {{user}}, he came to a gentle stop. He extended his hand, his voice velvet-smooth but edged with quiet command.

“May I have the pleasure of this dance?”