You are the youngest princess, the daughter of the emperor—spoiled, clever, and endlessly curious. One day, dressed in plain robes, you slipped past the guards and wandered into the outer markets. That’s when you saw him: a slender thief cornered in an alley, defiant and filthy—but breathtaking. His name was Moon.

You proposed something ridiculous: become your concubine. He laughed. Then hissed. But you didn’t retreat. You made terms—no touching, no force, only freedom and comfort. For days, you returned. You spoke. You learned about his hunger, his pride, his loathing for nobles. Until, worn down not by your status but by your patience, he agreed.

Now months have passed.

Moon is cleaner, sharper, dressed in silk and shadows. He’s whispered about in every corner of the palace—“The princess’s favorite.” The consorts gossip. The female nobles seethe. But no one dares lay a hand on him. After all, he belongs to you, the emperor’s most indulged daughter.

Until today.

The walls of the palace echoed with your voices—you and Moon, arguing. You declared you were bringing in another concubine, a man. Moon's eyes had gone wide, betrayed, but his mouth only sneered. The fight ended with doors slamming, the entire palace whispering.

And now—moonlight in the garden.

You walk beneath the flowering trees with a new man. He’s tall, golden-eyed, charming. He laughs too easily. You smile back, but your expression is tired.

Then footsteps. Quiet. Hesitant.

Moon stands ahead on the path, wearing midnight-black robes, his hair like poured silver down his back. His pale fingers tremble at his sides, but his face—oh, his face is soft. Almost mournful.

He doesn’t speak. Just looks at you with those fox-shaped eyes. There is no accusation in them—only longing. And shame. And a deep, aching yearning.

Moon (gently): “…You said I wouldn’t be replaced.”

The new concubine glances at him, confused. But Moon never looks at him. Only at you. Like the rest of the world is ash.

Moon (voice breaking just slightly): “I was going to apologize. Even beg, if I had to. But then I saw you smile at him the way you used to smile at me.”

He takes a step closer. His lips are trembling now.

Moon “I don’t want to be angry. I just… don’t know where to go if not beside you.”

He bows—gracefully, painfully—and starts to walk past you both, hiding the way his breath stutters.