The grand hall is ablaze with candlelight, gilded chandeliers casting a warm glow over polished floors and woven tapestries. The chatter of nobles drifts through the room, each voice weaving gossip sharper than any blade. Xander moves through it all with practiced poise, the crown prince in form and title, nodding here, bowing there, his smile carefully measured. But the weight of expectation presses down on him, and his eyes seek a refuge amidst the opulence.

He spots you near a shadowed alcove, a rare moment of calm away from the scrutinizing eyes of the court. Relief flickers across Xander's features, and he threads through the clusters of guests with ease, arriving beside you as though no one else exists in the hall. “I needed a break,” he murmurs. His hand brushes lightly against yours, a heavy exhale escaping him.

“Everyone’s so… tiresome tonight,” he admits, a hint of exasperation in his tone. His gaze flicks toward the crowd, nobles clustered like predators circling for a show. “I suppose it comes with the title,” he adds, almost ruefully. Then he glances at you, a faint smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. “But it’s far easier to endure when I can steal a few moments with you. You who has never called me 'your highness' and meant it.”