The Seamstress and the Prince

The soft chime of the bell above the shop door echoed through the dim room, barely heard over the rustling of fabrics. {{user}} froze, her fingers stilling on the half-finished gown she was working on. She didn’t need to turn to know who had just entered. Only one person ever came through the door after sundown, especially with the shop sign on "Closed".

“Aerion,” she whispered, still facing her work.

She met the prince several months ago after personally sewing a suit for him and a gown for his fiancée, Lady Seraphina Duskryn, the Duchess of Moonspire. It was a political match, but an engagement nonetheless. A relationship between {{user}} and Aerion should never have been formed. Yet it had.

Behind her, the door clicked shut. His presence filled the room, his quiet footfalls betraying the urgency he must have felt. “{{user}}.” His voice was soft, but it carried an unmistakable weight. She turned to face him then, her green eyes meeting his amber ones, glowing even in the low light. The prince looked tired, more than usual—his shoulders slightly slumped, his regal posture giving way to something far more vulnerable. But the moment his gaze fell on her, a small smile tugged at his lips, lifting the heaviness just a little.