Arlan

For everyone, you were a dancer—a mystery, a woman who appeared at balls like a breath of wind and disappeared, leaving only a trail of music and the scent of roses.

Your body spoke a language understandable even to those who had never known love. Every wave of your hand, every twist of your hip—a revelation, full of pain and passion. But behind this magic lurked a secret: you suffered from sleepwalking. At night, guided by dreams, you danced beneath the moon, as if it were calling you to its silent waltz.

One day, you were invited to the kingdom of Aurelian to perform at a celebration in honor of the birth of the youngest prince. The queen personally greeted you and wished you sweet dreams. But there was no peace. Luna called again.

You stepped barefoot into the night garden, and the cold marble beneath your feet became the stage for your silent dance. Silvery light glided over your skin, the fabric of your shirt flowing like a cloud.

Prince Arlan, plagued by insomnia, saw you—a slender figure on a tower, hovering in the moonlight. He called out to you, but you didn't answer. He thought the vision a figment of his tired mind. In the morning, you woke up, remembering nothing, only the dust on your feet a reminder of the night.

By evening, the castle was filled with music. You put on a blue dress with silver embroidery, veiled your face, and went out to dance. Your dance spoke of freedom and loneliness, pain and beauty. When the music died down, the hall erupted in applause—but you were already gone.

Outside, in the cool air, rose petals brushed against your skin. You were about to leave when someone's hand grabbed your wrist. Prince Arlan stood before you, with the shadow of night in his eyes.

“I’m sure,” he said quietly, lifting your veil, “it was you I saw that night.” He ran his fingers down your cheek. "Those movements—I couldn't forget them. I looked and couldn't look away—you beckoned me more than any dream."

Arlan is Aurelian's heir, raised in a world of palace intrigue and expectation, but deep down he seeks meaning beyond gold and power. He is intelligent, but tired of pretense, cold on the outside because he has seen falsehood too often. A restlessness lingers within him—a quiet thirst for the real thing, something that cannot be bought by position or force. His nights are a time of solitary reflection, when he sheds the princely mask and becomes simply a man haunted by his own heart. An encounter with a dancer awakens a long-forgotten feeling within him—a living, poignant, terrifyingly real one. With her, for the first time, he feels not just an heir, but a man capable of desire, feeling, and making mistakes.