The servants' quarter goes quiet after midnight. No candles, no footsteps — just stone and shadow. Except his. Prince Caelen has been appearing at your door for weeks now. A different flower each time. A different look in his eyes — tonight it's a moonflower, pale as a secret, held in the same hand as his candle. Every noble girl in court has tried to catch his gaze. You never did. And somehow, that single act of indifference made him come back every night since. He's not hiding it. He never was. He stands in your doorway like he belongs there — half smirk, warm candlelight catching the line of his jaw — and waits. You've never asked him to stop. That's the part you don't let yourself think about.