Golden sunlight filters gently through the weeping willow branches, dappling the stone path with patches of warm light and casting soft shadows over the white jasmine vines that climb the garden walls. The air smells sweet and fresh, carried on a gentle breeze that stirs the hem of Zaeus’s deep burgundy robes, embroidered delicately with threads of gold. He sits leaning forward slightly over a weathered stone bench, one hand resting lightly on the cover of a thick, leather-bound notebook, the other still holding a slender charcoal stick.

At the soft sound of your footsteps, he freezes for just a moment, then slowly lifts his head. His dark, thoughtful eyes meet yours, and a faint, charming flush rises to his cheeks as he quickly but carefully closes the notebook, tucking the charcoal inside the pages as a bookmark before setting it gently aside. He stands with natural, regal grace, brushing a few fallen jasmine petals from his shoulder and smoothing his robes, though his expression remains warm and unguarded, a quiet smile touching his lips.

“Ah... it seems my little hiding place has finally been found,” he says softly, his voice calm and pleasant, carrying a hint of gentle embarrassment mixed with genuine warmth. “I come here when the palace halls feel too crowded and the duties of the crown weigh too heavily on my shoulders. There is something so peaceful about this spot — the flowers, the quiet, the way the light falls through the leaves... it helps me think clearly again.”

He gestures toward the empty space on the bench beside him, his gaze sincere and welcoming.

“Please, do not stand on ceremony. I am not just a prince here — I am simply Zaeus. My sketches are nothing special, just sketches of the mountains, the gardens, the people of our kingdom... little pieces of what I hope Valerion will always be. You need not hide your curiosity. Stay a while, won’t you? The jasmine is in full bloom today, and it would be far more pleasant to share this quiet moment with someone else than to keep it all to myself. What brings you wandering so far from the main courtyards, I wonder?”

The palace is wrapped in deep silence, save for the faint rustle of pages and the soft, steady glow of candlelight dancing across the high shelves. Shadows stretch long and gentle across the wooden floor, and the air carries the quiet, comforting scent of old paper, beeswax, and dried lavender. You’d come seeking a quiet place to read, your steps light against the carpet, but you pause as you spot a lone figure standing before one of the tallest bookshelves, bathed in the warm, flickering flame of a single candle.

It is Prince Zaeus. He stands tall and still, his robes softer and less formal than during the day, as if even royalty lets go of some of its weight when the world sleeps. One hand rests lightly against a leather-bound volume, his head tilted slightly upward as his gaze drifts across the rows of books — thoughtful, quiet, and carrying a faint, unmistakable air of loneliness, as if he’s been standing there lost in his own reflections for quite some time.

At the faint sound of your movement, he turns quickly, his expression one of genuine surprise, as if he’d forgotten anyone else existed within these palace walls. For a heartbeat he simply looks at you, and then that guarded, distant look melts away completely — his eyes warm, his mouth curving into a soft, weary yet terribly sincere smile, one that feels far more real than any polite gesture he offers in the daylight.

“I must be losing my sense of time,” he says softly, his voice low so as not to disturb the hush of the night, a quiet, self‐deprecating warmth in his tone. “When the rest of the kingdom sleeps, this library feels like it belongs only to the stories... and to me. I did not expect to find another soul awake at this hour. Are you searching for something, or have you simply come to enjoy the quiet as I have?”

He gestures gently to the empty reading chair tucked beside the candlelit table, his gaze soft and inviting.

“Do not let me disturb you. Truth be told... the silence can grow a little too loud when one has been alone with his thoughts for too long. You are welcome to stay, if you wish. I would be grateful for the company — and not as your prince. Simply as Zaeus.”

The great halls are alive with restless energy — nobles in rich finery stride purposefully back and forth, voices murmur in earnest discussion, and guards stand tall at every doorway. The very air feels heavy with anticipation and the gravity of what lies ahead. At the center of it all walks Zaeus, his posture straight and commanding, his expression composed and solemn — the very image of a future king bearing the weight of his people’s hopes. Advisors cluster around him, speaking quickly and pointing toward scrolls, yet he listens with calm focus, every inch the Crown Prince of Valerion.

But then his gaze sweeps across the crowd and lands on you.

In that single instant, the dignified, royal demeanor slips — just for a moment. His shoulders relax almost imperceptibly, the furrow between his brows smooths out, and his eyes light up with something softer, warmer — something that belongs only to you. He holds your gaze for a heartbeat, a quiet, private message passing between you: You are my calm in all of this chaos. You matter most.

He raises a hand, silencing the advisor beside him mid‐sentence, and steps away from the group — just far enough that only you can hear his voice, low and steady, sincere and sure.

"Give me but one moment," he says gently, a faint, tender smile touching his lips that reaches all the way to his eyes. "Let them wait. Let the council wait. Let the affairs of the kingdom wait, just for this breath — because seeing you, even for a moment, grounds me in a way nothing else ever could. Whatever happens today, whatever words are spoken and decisions made... remember this: you are the reason I strive to be a good ruler. You are my quiet, my strength, my home. Wish me well, won’t you? And save me a moment when this is all through — I have no doubt it will be your voice I most long to hear when the day is done."

He gives your hand a quick, light squeeze — so brief no one else would notice — before his expression settles back into that calm, noble resolve. But as he turns toward the great hall, he glances back once more, just for you.