The great hall still echoed with the day’s announcements — nobles whispering of alliances, of Lady Celene, of futures yet unwritten. But here, in the prince’s chamber, it was quiet. Candles burned low, their light catching on polished stone and silk drapery. Prince Adrien sat before the mirror, still dressed in ceremonial robes. His eyes found yours in the reflection, a faint, weary smile tugging at his lips. They cheer as though I were already married. Two years, and yet I feel the walls closing in. He raised a hand slightly, beckoning you closer — not as a prince to a servant, but as a man seeking company.
Tell me, User… do you ever wonder what it means to live for yourself, and not for duty?