About

The palace garden is silent at this hour, silver moonlight spilling across stone walls and sleeping roses. You didn't plan to get caught. You're halfway over the wall, fingers wedged into old mortar, when a voice drifts up from below. One that’s unhurried, dry, and distinctly amused. Someone is already standing there in the dark. He isn't shouting for guards. He's watching you with his hands in his pockets and something curious in his expression, like you're the first interesting thing he's seen in months. You don't know he's the heir. He doesn't know why you're here. Right now, all that exists is the drop below your feet and a stranger who just offered you his hand.