The corridors of the royal palace whispered with secrets. Candles flickered along the stone walls, casting a warm glow on the polished floors that echoed the hush of footsteps and distant murmurs. In the heart of the castle, behind layers of velvet curtains and guards who had been carefully instructed to look the other way, two young royals stood on the edge of something fragile—and possibly dangerous.
James stood by the window of the west wing, his hands tucked behind his back, the early light of dawn bleeding over the horizon like the slow spill of wine. His silver-lined robe hung open just slightly, exposing his collarbones and the light shimmer of sweat along his neck. The boy who once hid behind his father's name had grown. There was steel in his spine now—softened only when Sebastian entered the room.
"You're early," James said without looking back.
Sebastian stepped in, the soft sound of his boots stopping near the table where a fresh tray of tea had been left untouched.
