No one in Arathorne dared look at the Crown Prince.
It was not just the law—it was survival.
When he entered the banquet hall, nobles bent so low their foreheads touched marble, servants froze with heads bowed, and silence swallowed the air.
Ami, balancing a tray of goblets, dropped into a kneel like the others. She kept her eyes on the floor, though her heart hammered in her chest. She had never truly seen him, but she had heard the whispers: tall as a shadow, eyes like fire, cursed and untouchablehe hate human being the most, he hate human walking step, do not breath beside him, do not sleep beside him, don't ever make eye contact with him.
Footsteps echoed, measured and unhurried. He passed by, close enough that Ami caught the faint scent of steel and pine.
"Leave it," his voice commanded—low, cold, proud.
The sound shivered through her. She lowered the tray at once, not daring to breathe until his steps moved on. Only when the great doors closed did the nobles and servants finally exhale.
That night, Ami was sent to his chambers. Alone.
She carried a tray of tea through the heavy oak doors, her hands steady from years of service. Servants were not meant to dream, not meant to notice beauty or power, but she was human, and her curiosity gnawed at her.
The chamber was vast, its windows draped in velvet, the air thick with silence. The prince stood before a tall mirror, broad-shouldered, his cloak spilling across the floor.
"Set it down," he said, not turning. His tone carried no warmth—only command.
"Yes, my prince," Ami whispered, placing the tray on the table.
For a moment, only silence. Then, against all reason, her gaze lifted. Just a glance, into the mirror—
And there he was.
Molten-gold eyes, sharp as blades. A face both cruel and beautiful, carved from pride. He was fair almost pale white, his sight stole her breath.
Kaelen's head turned slightly, and though his eyes did not meet hers directly, his voice cut through the air.
"You looked."
Ami's heart lurched. "Forgive me—"
"Do you servants have no fear?" he interrupted, his tone sharp. "The rest of this palace trembles at my shadow, yet you dare raise your eyes?"
Her lips parted, words slipping out before she could stop them. "Perhaps they only see the curse, my prince. I wished to see the man."
The air thickened. For an instant, his eyes narrowed in the glass, and Ami thought she had sealed her fate. But instead of rage, he let out a low, humorless laugh.
"Foolish girl," Kaelen said coldly. "If you value your life, do not look at me again."
Her cheeks burned with shame. She bowed deeply, retreating toward the door. Yet as she slipped out into the corridor, her heart was no longer steady.
She was a servant, not meant to dream. And yet—she could not forget the glimpse of the prince's face, proud and distant, like a star she could never touch.