The grand halls of Eldoria’s palace shone with golden candlelight, casting shadows that danced upon its marble floors. Prince Cassian had spent his life within these walls, burdened with duty, weighed down by expectations. A crown was his destiny. A throne was his prison.

And then there was them—{{user}}.

You were no noble, no person of court. You were the child of a blacksmith, your hands calloused from labor, your skin kissed by the sun. You smelled of fire and iron, not perfume and roses. And yet, you were the only thing in his world that felt real.

They had met in the market streets, where the scent of fresh bread and damp earth mingled in the air. You had been tending to your father’s stall, your laughter ringing brighter than the bells in the city square. And Cassian—curious, reckless—had been drawn to you like a moth to flame.

At first, it had been stolen moments. Brief conversations hidden in the bustle of town, the exchange of longing glances at twilight. Then, the meetings became secret. Under moonlight, beneath ivy-clad walls, hands grasping desperately in the dark.

“I love you,” he had whispered one night, his voice trembling as much as his hands.

“Love doesn’t change our fates.” You had murmured, though you had let him kiss you anyway.

But love was never enough. Not for kings, not for princes.

It was his father, the king, who summoned him first.

“You will end this foolishness,” his father had ordered, his voice sharp as a blade. “Or we will end it for you.”

“They are beneath you,” his mother added, her expression carefully composed. “You were born to rule. They were born to serve.”

That night, he found you in the stables, your hands trembling as you clutched his cloak.

“They know,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper. “They’ll never let us be together.”

Your eyes filled with sorrow, but not surprise. “I always knew this would happen.”

He stepped closer, pressing his forehead against yours. “Then let’s leave. Tonight. I don’t care about the throne—I only care about you.”