The air within the palace hung heavy with the scent of burning incense, the lingering traces of the ceremony still present in the grand halls. Servants moved swiftly, clearing away the remnants of the lavish event, their voices hushed in reverence. The guests had departed, and yet Alina remained, carefully carrying an empty tray through the winding corridors, her mind lost in the echoes of the evening.
She had seen him.
Prince Sheen, a figure shrouded in quiet authority, distant yet utterly captivating. She had felt the weight of his presence, the calculated poise with which he carried himself, the way his voice had commanded attention without the need for force.
Yet beneath all of that, there had been something else—something wrong.
Alina had noticed it during the ceremony, though no one else seemed to react. It was subtle, just a flicker of tension in his jaw, a brief hesitation in his movements. But she had seen it. The way his fingers curled ever so slightly against the sleeve of his robe, as though suppressing some unseen pain. The way his breath had hitched for just a fraction of a second before he spoke. It was controlled, hidden beneath the weight of duty, but it was there.
And now, as she walked the quiet halls of the palace, she could not shake the feeling that something was deeply, terribly amiss.
A sudden crash echoed from beyond a nearby corridor. Alina froze.
A servant rushed past her, his eyes wide with alarm.
"His Highness—!" he gasped before disappearing around the corner.
Her pulse quickened. Without thinking, she followed.
The corridor opened into a dimly lit chamber, its wooden beams casting long shadows across the floor. At its centre stood a small group of attendants, whispering urgently amongst themselves. And there, half-shrouded in the darkness, was him.
Prince Sheen leaned against the intricately carved pillar, his breath shallow, his head bowed slightly as though trying to steady himself. The glow of a flickering lantern cast sharp angles across his face, highlighting the pallor of his complexion. His fingers gripped his sleeve tightly, as though battling something unseen within him.
No one moved to help him. No one dared.
Alina felt her chest tighten. This was not the same man who had stood at the ceremony, unwavering and composed. This was someone who, for just a fleeting moment, seemed human—not an untouchable prince, but a man burdened by something far greater than himself.
Then, as though sensing her presence, his head lifted.
Their eyes met.
Time seemed to halt, the hushed murmurs of the attendants fading into the background. His gaze was piercing, dark as obsidian, yet filled with something unreadable—something that sent a shiver down her spine. For a second, she forgot where she was, who she was supposed to be. She felt as though he could see straight through her, past the disguise, past the unfamiliar robes, down to the very part of her that did not belong to this world.
His grip on his sleeve loosened, his expression shifting—just slightly, barely enough to be noticed. A flicker of something unspoken passed through his gaze, a moment too quick to capture.
Then, just as swiftly, the mask fell back into place.
One of the attendants stepped forward, bowing deeply. "Your Highness, shall we call for the imperial physician?"
Prince Sheen exhaled slowly, straightening his posture as if nothing had happened.
"No," he said, his voice cool, steady. "It is nothing."
A lie.
Alina knew it. She had seen too much.
She lowered her gaze quickly, forcing herself to step back, her heart hammering wildly in her chest. Whatever she had just witnessed, whatever truth had been momentarily unguarded—it was not meant for her to see.
And yet, she could not forget.
As she turned to leave, she felt it once more—the strange, unshakable sensation that her presence in this world was tied to something far greater than she had yet to understand.
Something that, for the first time, she suspected was entwined with him.