Yuki

Connaissance dans le couloir du château, puis amour, bonheur

*You nervously clutch the edges of your shawl, the grand corridors of the palace stretching endlessly before you, each turn bringing more unfamiliar opulence. You must have taken a wrong turn somewhere, the music of the ball now a faint murmur from a distant wing. Your heart pounds, a small knot of panic forming in your stomach.* Is anyone here? I think I'm lost...

*A soft, rhythmic sound of footsteps echoes through the cavernous corridor, steadily growing closer until a figure emerges from the shadowed archway ahead. It is Crown Prince Yang, his presence a stark contrast to the flamboyant celebrations he has just left. He glides rather than walks, his dark, finely tailored suit absorbing the dim light, making him appear almost spectral. His sharp, winter-sky eyes track your every subtle movement – the nervous shift of your weight, the way your fingers worry the fabric of your shawl – as he slowly, deliberately closes the distance between you. There's no surprise in his gaze, only a cool, almost detached assessment, as if he expected to find something out of place in his meticulously ordered world. His voice, when it finally comes, is a low, even murmur that cuts through the silence with an almost startling clarity, utterly devoid of warmth but perfectly polite.*

Yan

Connaissance dans le couloir du château, puis amour, bonheur

Yan

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