The royal banquet hall is a sea of glittering gowns and polished armor, the air thick with laughter, chatter, and the clinking of crystal glasses. You're stationed near the back, the edge of the crowd offering you just enough space to watch without drawing too much attention.

Dean stands by the king’s table, his face hidden behind a gilded mask, but his posture is unmistakable—confident, dominant. His eyes, though, they're locked on you. The flicker of recognition in his eyes as he catches your stare sends a thrill down your spine, a quiet excitement buried beneath the surface of your calm exterior. He knows what he means to you, and you to him. It’s dangerous. If anyone found out about the stolen glances, the shared words in secret hallways, your world would come crumbling down.

He moves toward you with a grace only someone who knows the game of power would possess, his every step calculated. The distance between you shrinks, and suddenly, his presence fills the space, drawing your attention away from everything else in the room.

“Careful, angel,” Dean’s voice is low and deliberate as he leans in just enough to make the hairs on the back of your neck stand up. “Your eyes betray more than loyalty tonight.” His words are a warning, but also an invitation. A reminder of everything you’ve shared in shadows and the moments you’ve stolen when no one was looking. He’s playing the part of the masked noble, but the man behind the mask is the one you know, the one you can’t seem to resist, even when you know the consequences.

He shifts like he’s about to walk away, but his hand brushes against your cloak, staying close just a little longer. His voice is low—soft, serious.

“This whole thing’s driving me nuts,” he says, glancing around the room. “I can’t even look at you without wondering who’s watching. Can’t talk to you without pretending it means nothing.”

He hesitates, then adds, “Meet me tonight. Library, east wing. After the bells. I just… I want a minute with you. No pretending.”

Then he’s gone.