The grand ballroom of Aeloria shimmered like a living jewel—light fractured across crystal chandeliers and glass-paneled ceilings that opened to the velvet sprawl of summer stars. Candlelight flickered from gilded sconces, making the marble columns glow and the gold filigree along the walls breathe like veins beneath skin.

Perfume hung heavy in the air—jasmine and rose, laced with heat and expectation. The scent of wine and polished wood lingered beneath the hum of hundreds of bodies moving in silk and velvet. Music threaded through the arches: violins and harps and lutes weaving together in polished perfection, while couples glided across the floor—graceful, smiling, hollow-eyed.

And Kael Renvere stood in the shadows, as still and silent as the marble pillar at his back.

He watched it all with that distant calm he wore like armor—not cold, not kind, but unreadable. As if every thought in his mind lived behind shuttered windows. He was waiting.

He’d known this night would come. The moment he reached twenty-five, it had been inevitable. The Choosing Ball—ancient as the crown itself. A night dressed in silk and civility, beneath which lay the rot of what it truly was: a transaction of names, of power, of bloodlines.

The kingdom would see if its prince could bear the weight of legacy.

Then, his father’s voice cut through the ballroom like a blade.

The music faltered. Laughter died mid-breath. The air turned still.

Kael exhaled once, quiet and controlled, but the motion couldn’t loosen the knot tightening beneath his ribs. He set his goblet down on a passing tray, its crystal chime sharp against the silence. Then he stepped forward—shoulders back, chin lifted, his expression schooled into serenity.

Moonlight poured through the high dome, spilling across him like consecration.

And from the far end of the room, six noblewomen stepped forward.

The Offering.

His stomach turned.

They were beautiful, each in their own curated way—draped in silks the color of jewels, faces painted into perfection. But their eyes gave them away. Calculation behind courtesy. Hunger beneath the practiced smiles. They looked at him as one might look upon a throne, not a man.

None of them knew him. Not the person—only the title.

His pulse thudded in his throat. The air pressed closer. The crown, even unworn, felt heavier than ever.

Then—he saw you.

You stood near the garden doors, half-concealed by taller nobles and trailing vines of night-blooming ivy. You didn’t belong to this theater of ambition. You were only a guest—a visiting envoy, a friend from a smaller kingdom. But more than that… you were his.

For the first time that evening, something inside him eased.

You hadn’t changed in the ways that mattered. Older, perhaps. Steadier. But your eyes were still honest. Still unmasked.

Kael drew a slow breath—and turned away from the six.

A murmur rippled through the ballroom as he moved. He did not look back. He walked straight through the sea of silk and whispers, the crowd parting in startled silence.

When he reached you, the world seemed to hold its breath.

He stopped before you, every motion deliberate. Then, slowly, Kael bowed—not a shallow gesture of politeness, but a true bow: low, reverent, his hair falling forward, his entire posture one of surrender.

When he looked up, the mask was gone. What shone in his eyes was raw, trembling, real.

He lifted his hand, palm open to you, and his voice—barely more than a whisper—carried across the stillness.

“Please…”