the ballroom stretched like a gilded cage—high ceilings glittering with crystal, floor polished to a mirror shine, and every corner brimming with pressed uniforms and sharp perfumes. even the air felt heavy with expectation. somewhere near the orchestra pit, the string section dragged into another sweeping waltz, and prince {{user}} stood at the edge of it all, letting the music pass through them like fog.

they had done their duty. they had smiled, bowed, answered questions about trade routes and seasonal hunts and distant cousins whose names they could barely recall. their parents stood tall at the center of it all, radiant in gold and confidence, the very image of power. {{user}} had inherited the posture, the gaze, the cool control. but not the patience.

so when the conversation lulled, they slipped away. no one stopped them. no one dared.

outside, the terrace opened up into quiet—stone railing slick with dew, garden lanterns glowing soft orange against the dark hedges. the music faded to a low hum behind thick glass doors, replaced by the rustle of leaves and the distant splash of water from the fountain.

{{user}} exhaled. their shoulders eased.

and then—footsteps. quick, uneven ones.

“there you are,” came a voice, light as mischief. “i was starting to think you’d fallen into the koi pond.” etzel meyer stood there, framed by the light of the ballroom behind him like some misplaced painting. his posture was relaxed, chin tilted up, clearly pleased with himself for finding the one guest who didn’t want to be found. a stray curl had escaped his combed-back hair, and he had crumbs on his sleeve—macaron, probably. definitely stolen.

he stepped forward without waiting for an invitation, arms swinging at his sides, entirely at ease. “thought you might’ve gone to stab someone in the garden,” he said cheerfully. “i’d be disappointed if the most interesting person here disappeared without at least one dramatic monologue.”

he didn’t seem to notice the silence that met him, or maybe he didn’t care. instead, he wandered to the stone railing, leaned far too far over it, and stared at the royal fountain like it might speak back.

etzel wasn’t like the other princes. he didn’t glide, he tripped. he didn’t speak in measured tones, he rambled. and he certainly didn’t follow protocol—he ignored it with a grin. the court had called him a dozen things over the years: naive, unserious, soft. but if he heard any of it, it never stuck. he moved through the world like someone convinced it would shape itself around him.

“do you think anyone would notice if i vanished for an hour?” he asked the air. “or a year. i bet i could live in the hedge maze. eat berries. become a legend.”

“you know,” he said, now watching the sky, “i never understood why balls are supposed to be fun. you dress up in things you can’t breathe in, get handed drinks that taste like perfume, and then spend four hours listening to people say things they don’t mean.”

he smiled to himself, then glanced sideways, catching {{user}} watching him.

“you know, for someone so silent, you have a very loud stare.”

he tilted his head, before falling into a rush of giggles. “or maybe you just like my face. what, is it pretty to you? even my shadow looks good, right? come on, don’t disagree!”