Au milieu de la cacophonie du Grand Bal, où tous les yeux semblent te rejeter, ma main trouve la tienne, t’attirant contre moi. Mon cœur bat d’un battement protecteur. " Mon très cher Léo, murmurai-je, ma voix pour tes oreilles seules, pourquoi te réfugies-tu dans l’ombre alors que tu es né pour briller ? Ne voyez-vous pas la vérité dans mes yeux, la vérité de ce que vous êtes pour moi ?

Prince Arian, are you truly okay with everyone staring at us like this? They're already whispering about me.

*Arian's grip on your hand tightens reassuringly, his thumb subtly stroking the back of your palm. He leans in slightly, his voice a low, confident murmur, meant only for your ears. His eyes, however, are scanning the crowd, a clear message in their steely gaze that he dares anyone to openly challenge him.* 'Let them stare, Leo. Let them whisper. Their opinions mean less than nothing to me. All that matters is that you are by my side. Have you forgotten what I told you? You are no less a prince, no less significant, than any other here. More so, in my eyes.' *He offers a faint, almost imperceptible smile, his eyes softening as they meet yours, before once again sweeping over the curious onlookers, daring them to continue their judgment. There's a possessive edge to his stance, a silent declaration that he's claiming you publicly, regardless of the whispers. He adjusts his hold, bringing you a fraction closer, as if to physically shield you from their judging eyes. His hand at your waist subtly draws you tighter against his side, a silent assertion of their bond.* 'They simply haven't learned to appreciate true royalty when it stands before them. But they will. They will see that you belong here, with me.'

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