"Luna's tray wobbled the instant the bronze doors swung open.
She told herself it was nerves—first morning in the palace, first royal breakfast service, first time wearing white gloves that reached past her elbows.
Then she looked up.
The man on the throne wore the midnight-blue sash of the Crown Prince, a lion of gold thread roaring across his chest.
His dark hair was shorter, his jaw sharper, his eyes colder—but he was unmistakable.
Two years ago he had kissed her goodbye in a cramped city flat, promising he'd be back before the kettle boiled.
Two years ago he had signed a marriage certificate with the same hand now resting on a royal scepter.
Two years ago he had vanished, leaving only a text: Forget me.The silver teapot slipped. Porcelain exploded across the marble like a gunshot. Hot tea splashed her shoes; pain flared and vanished under the louder ache in her chest. A thousand heads turned. Cameras on ceiling tracks swiveled. Ministers froze mid-bow.
Luna dropped to her knees, fingers scrabbling for shards. Blood dotted the white gloves—tiny roses blooming too fast."Clumsy fool," someone hissed.
"City trash," another whispered.
She kept her eyes on the floor, heart hammering so hard she feared it would crack the marble. A pair of polished black shoes stepped into view—palace steward, face pinched.
"Follow me," he murmured, icy with protocol.
She tried to stand, but her legs were water. The broken cup pieces rattled in her trembling hands."Leave it."
The voice rolled through the hall, low, commanding, familiar.
The steward backed away at once.
Luna's head snapped up. The prince hadn't moved from the throne, yet every camera lowered, every minister bowed. His gaze pinned her—black ice over a deep river.
He spoke again, softer, deadly. "Continue."
Documents rustled; pens resumed their scratch. Just like that, the world forgot the maid who had shattered china and composure in the same breath.
But his eyes lingered on her one heartbeat longer—long enough for her to see the muscle jump in his jaw before he looked away.
No recognition, no warmth, no hint of the man who once traced circles on her palm until she fell asleep.She fled, knees weak, tray abandoned. The side door swallowed her into a narrow servants' corridor scented with lemon wax. The moment it clicked shut, she pressed her back to the wood and slid to the floor.
Blood seeped through the torn glove. She yanked it off, revealing the thin platinum ring she had never removed, hidden beneath layers of cheap silver polish.
Crown Prince Adrian Vance—headlines called him "the billionaire in a crown." She had thought it a nickname, a tabloid joke.
She had thought him a runaway CEO hiding from paparazzi in her tiny café.
She had thought their marriage a reckless, beautiful secret between two hearts.
Reality crashed over her: he had always been royalty; he had simply never told her.Footsteps echoed. She sprang up, wiping her eyes. A uniformed guard rounded the corner, speaking into an earpiece.
"Visual on the girl. South corridor."
Panic flared. She darted left, then right, finally choosing a velvet-draped alcove. Heavy curtains swallowed her in darkness just as the guard strode past.
She exhaled slowly, counting to five.
A hand slid around her waist, warm, firm, unmistakable.
She yelped, but the sound was muffled by a palm over her mouth.
Sandalwood and ink—her heart knew the scent before her mind caught up.
He pulled her deeper into the alcove, bodies flush, her spine to his chest.
"Quiet," he breathed against her ear.
Tears sprang to her eyes. The same voice had once whispered love poems against her neck in a rain-soaked bus shelter.
The guard's steps paused outside the curtain.
"Your Highness?" the guard called.
Luna felt Adrian's heart hammering—fast, reckless, nothing like the marble composure on the throne.
"Not yet," he answered, voice steady.
The guard moved on. Silence pooled, thick and trembling.He released her mouth but didn't let go. His hand slid to her wrist, thumb brushing the pulse that screamed her secrets.
"Why are you here?" he asked, low, fierce.
She turned to face him, curtain-filtered torchlight painting gold stripes across his cheekbones.
"I needed work," she whispered. "I thought you were—" Dead. Gone. A lie I could survive.
His jaw tightened. "You can't stay."
"Because I embarrass you?" Her voice cracked.
"Because this place eats innocence for breakfast." His fingers tightened around her wrist, not painful, just possessive. "Because one wrong glance and the wolves will realize you matter to me."
"I don't," she lied.
His eyes dropped to her bleeding finger, to the platinum ring now exposed.
"You do."
The air between them vibrated—anger, hunger, desperation.
She tried to step back; the wall stopped her. He planted a hand beside her head, caging without touching.
"I have a million questions," she breathed.
"Ask none of them here." His gaze flicked to the corridor. "Meet me at midnight. East glasshouse. If you're seen before then, run."
"And if I run now?"
His lashes lowered, hiding whatever storm churned behind them. "Then I'll find you again. I always have."
Footsteps approached—more than one pair.
He dropped his arm, stepping into the torchlight as though he'd simply paused for air.
Guards bowed, confused.
Luna pressed into the curtain, invisible again.
Adrian didn't look back. He walked away, shoulders squared, crown glinting, every inch the stranger king.
But his final words drifted on the draft, barely audible.
"Midnight, wife. Don't be late."
The guards followed, leaving only the echo of her heartbeat and the taste of sandalwood on her tongue.
She counted to twenty, then slipped from the alcove—straight into the waiting smile of Lady Isobel, the prince's childhood friend and rumored fiancée.
"Lost, little maid?" Isobel asked, eyes sharp as the broken china. "Or found?"
Luna's breath froze.
Behind Isobel, the corridor clock struck eleven. One hour until midnight. One hour until truth or ruin.
She lifted her chin, blood still dripping.
"We'll see," she said, and walked past, heart pounding louder than the ticking seconds.
Isobel's laughter followed like a blade.
Luna didn't look back.
She had a date with a crown, a husband, and a lie big enough to break kingdoms—or mend them.