Still half out of breath from the intense dance, Luna and the man stepped away from the dance floor, laughing like partners in mischief in the middle of a royal ball.
The side lounge welcomed them with luxurious sofas, gentle air conditioning, and a sophisticated ambient soundtrack — electronic jazz with French notes.
Victória, Nikoly, and Lumine were already there, recovering from the dance floor with new drinks in their hands.
As soon as they saw Luna approaching with the mysterious man beside her, their eyes lit up.
"Look who survived the dance with our blue storm," said Victória, laughing.
"Or maybe he's the one who survived her?" murmured Lumine, in an enigmatic tone.
"Was there intense eye contact?" Nikoly asked, as if filling out a spy mission report.
Luna rolled her eyes gracefully. "Girls, this is… hmm…"
She turned to him with a provocative smile. "What's your name again, mysterious majesty?"
The man, still keeping his charm, answered with a slight nod. "Callen."
Luna finished. "This is Callen. Dances well. Endures jokes. And didn't try to take me to a hotel with bad intentions."
She laughed and winked at him.
The three friends raised their eyebrows, now clearly curious.
But it was the Prince who went on alert.
As soon as he heard the women's last names, his strategic brain screamed an internal alarm:
"Victória Lancaster… Nikoly Hoshinami… Lumine Edelweiss…"
Three families with global influence. Financial branches, technology, media, cultural politics.
And Luna… was with them. Naturally. As if she always belonged there.
That only increased the mystery.
Before he could ask more questions, a new group entered the lounge.
Six stunning women, dressed in metallic tones and shimmering silk. Custom design heels, impeccable makeup, imported perfumes invading the air like elite troops.
And at the center of the group, the leader: Amara.
A Daughter of an emerging Euro-Arab dynasty. Global influencer. Businesswoman. Socialite. And clearly with her eyes glued to Callen.
She walked like someone invading a territory with armed diplomacy. Stopped in front of the group. Gave a social smile.
"Good evening. I couldn't help but notice this… impressive table."
Her eyes were 90% on Callen, 10% on the others.
Maybe 1% on Luna, and that 1% was already measuring if her dress was from the latest collection.
Victória, Nikoly, and Lumine responded with subtle and cordial nods. But nobody said "sit down."
Amara, ignoring the absence of an invitation, kept her gaze on the man. "I'm Amara von Lysenne. And you must be…"
Callen responded neutrally. "Callen."
"Callen," she repeated, as if savoring it. "Different. Mysterious. I like that."
Luna, who was next to him with a new drink in hand, just watched.
And then… smiled.
She raised her glass, looked at Callen, and let slip, with a voice loaded with sour sweetness. "Wow… you must be really irresistible. Attracts even female strike squads."
Callen coughed, embarrassed and amused.
The three friends held back laughter.
Amara kept the smile. But there was a spark of tension in her eyes now.
Luna leaned her elbow on Callen's shoulder, a gesture half possessive, half playful, and added. "Careful, 'Callen'. If you keep this up, I'll have to put a leash on you."
She laughed, drinking right after.
Callen just smiled.
The golden glass in Amara's hands sparkled.
"Callen…" she said, putting the name on her lips like a newly discovered jewel. "I know we don't know each other, but I have the feeling we have a lot in common."
Callen smiled politely. But his attention wavered… Sometimes on Amara's elegant pose, sometimes on Luna's silver eyes, who was now sitting sideways, like a bored goddess on a throne she had turned into a sofa.
Amara continued her verbal parade. "My family is negotiating with the D'Anjou group, which has business in Zurich and Monaco… you've certainly heard of them."
She smiled. "By the way, you seem to belong to that circle. Princes with steel eyes are not common among commoners."
It was a compliment… and a test.
Callen looked away for a second. But before he could answer, Luna entered the scene.
She stretched slowly and rested her head on Callen's shoulder, with a long melodic sigh:
"Aiiin, I'm so tired of politics." Then looked straight at Amara. "Does your D'Anjou group have decent catering or do you serve warm champagne too?"
Amara blinked — just once. But the mask of social diplomacy trembled half a millimeter.
Callen coughed lightly, surprised.
And Luna continued, laughing softly, clearly drunk and deliciously disrespectful to high society rituals:
"Mr. Callen here is already taken, dear." She lightly tapped his chest with her painted nail. "I found him first. And he dances well. Turns well. Endures my craziness. Perfect to carry in the glove compartment."
The three friends watched in silence, eyes wide with amusement.
Victória whispered. "My God. She's going to cause a clan war and still laugh afterward."
Nikoly murmured. "I'm studying her like a thesis. Chaos anthropology with high heels."
Lumine smiled calmly, like a villain who already knew the ending. "Amara lost the battle at Luna's second sip."
Amara, in turn, kept the smile. But it was a hard smile, forced polite.
"I imagine you're joking…" She let out a brief, dry laugh. "You seem… witty."
Luna lifted her head from Callen's shoulder and crossed her legs slowly, keeping her eyes fixed on Amara like someone assessing a display model.
"Amara, huh?" She raised the glass. "You have presence. I'll give you that. But Callen here is already my dance partner, my sofa support and… who knows… my getaway driver if this party gets boring."
Callen smiled, against his own will.
The tension was delicious.
Amara tilted her head, finally facing Luna more seriously. "And you are…?"
"A tourist," Luna replied, taking a sip.
"A tourist… from where?"
Luna looked at the ceiling, thoughtful. "From the unknown. From the mess. From the chaos that wears heels. Choose your favorite destination."
Amara finally stopped smiling. For two seconds.
Then resumed the noble expression. Gave a subtle, cold nod, like someone who doesn't bother to respond to a provocation below an acceptable level.
"It was… curious meeting you." And turned to leave, dragging her group of silent beauties like a humiliated entourage.
As soon as Amara left audible range, Luna let out a whistle. "That one hates me more than glitter hates vacuum cleaners."
Callen laughed, loud, finally. A light, genuine laugh. "You really aren't afraid of anyone, huh?"
Luna winked. "Me? I'm afraid of serious things. Like bills. Caterpillars. Awkward silence… and stairs with heels. But little princesses trying to play political charm on my drunken flirt? That's unfair."
The three friends burst into laughter.
The Prince, now clearly enchanted, looked at her like someone watching a diamond hurricane dancing among mortals.
The night continued drunk, charming, and increasingly dangerously fun.
Luna, with rosy cheeks, slightly messy hair, and the mischievous smile at its peak, tapped the empty glass on the edge of the crystal table. "Waiter! Another one of these here… with more glitter and less ice, please!"
The waiter nodded as if facing a goddess hungry for lunar nectar.
Then she turned to Callen and pointed to the wide sofa. "Come, sit here with me. I don't want my… runaway dancer… escaping that easily."
Callen hesitated.
His noble blood screamed for restraint, composure, and maybe a fresh air chamber to organize thoughts.
But Luna looked at him like a spoiled child looks at a baby rabbit.
He tried to keep his pose. "I think not. You're already... quite lively."
She pouted. "Pwease, little Callen…" And put her hands together as if casting a drunken princess spell.
Defeat. Instant. Inevitable.
Callen huffed, smiling sideways, and sat on the sofa.
The next second, Luna sat on his lap.
Not lasciviously. But like someone who found the most comfortable seat on the planet and decided to curl up like a cat.
Callen froze.
One arm tried to keep respectful distance. The other floated unsure where to rest.
"L-Luna… this… is not appropriate."
She turned in his lap, looking at him with half-closed silver eyes. "I haven't been appropriate since the second glass, majesty."
And rested her head on his shoulder, letting out a satisfied sigh.
The three friends, sitting across, burst into silent laughter.
Victória rested her chin on her hand and murmured. "So good to see royalty being domesticated live."
Nikoly, always analytical, said. "We should sell tickets."
Lumine just looked at Matthew with that look and said. "Matthew Solarius, you are surrounded. Accept it."
Luna lifted her head from his shoulder, staring at him with raised eyebrows. "…Matthew what?"
Matthew closed his eyes slowly, like someone accepting imminent social death.
"…Matthew Solarius," Lumine repeated. "Crown Prince of the Phoenix Country."
Luna blinked. "You are what? A real PRINCE??"
"…I am."
"…And told me your name was Callen??"
Matthew tried to explain, but Luna put a finger on his lips like a slightly tipsy romcom heroine:
"Shhh… no. Now it's too late. Now you will listen."
She straightened up in his lap, pointing theatrically. "You danced with me… let me ride you like a throne… and lied about your name? WHAT else is a lie? You really dance? Are you real? Is this Narnia???"
The friends collapsed.
Matthew sighed, completely defeated. "I… use that name at parties to avoid attention. Security, protocol, that whole thing."
"Uh-huh," said Luna, arms crossed in his lap. "And how many other drunk girls have you let fall in love with you using that trick, huh, Matthew Solarius of the Phoenix?"
"None," he answered honestly. "You were the first."
Luna froze for half a second.
Then… smiled. "Good answer, majesty. Very good."
She gave a quick kiss on his cheek and lay again, hugging the prince like he was a royal pillow.
The room hummed softly with the jazz-electronic fusion as Luna nestled comfortably against Matthew, the newfound prince turned mystery man, still tangled in his alias "Callen." The air between them crackled with unspoken tension and amusement, the kind that only an intense night at a royal ball could conjure.
Victória leaned in, whispering to Nikoly, "Watch out, Luna's got a storm brewing under that playful smile."
Nikoly nodded, eyes sharp. "She's a tempest wrapped in silk. Dangerous and dazzling."
Meanwhile, Lumine's calm demeanor remained unshaken. She sipped her drink, eyes glimmering with secret knowledge, like a chess player anticipating the next move.
Matthew shifted slightly under Luna's light weight, still processing the surrealness of his predicament. A crown prince caught between royal duties and the chaotic charm of a wild woman who danced circles around etiquette and protocol.
"You know," Luna murmured into his ear, "I don't usually fall for princes. Too much paperwork involved. But you… you might be worth the headache."
Matthew chuckled softly, the sound low and genuine. "And I don't usually lose control at parties. You must be special."
Her silver eyes sparkled mischievously. "Special, huh? Or just good at putting princes in their place."
The conversation floated into a comfortable silence, punctuated only by the soft clink of glasses and distant laughter. Around them, the party carried on—schemes whispered behind gilded fans, alliances forged and broken over champagne flutes.
But for now, in the quiet cocoon of the lounge, it was just Luna and Matthew. Two worlds colliding—royalty and rebellion, order and chaos—dancing their invisible swords.
Outside the shimmering glass windows, the city lights of the kingdom flickered like distant stars, indifferent to the small but potent storm brewing inside.
Luna's grin softened. "So, Matthew Solarius… ready to let the night take us wherever it wants?"
He smiled back, the weight of a crown momentarily forgotten. "Lead the way, Luna."
And with that, the invisible swords sheathed for a moment, replaced by a dance only they could see—a dance of secrets, sparks, and stolen moments under the royal moonlight.
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