The Crown Prince --

Appearances are often deceiving.

“The violent beast.” “The bloodthirsty warrior.” Those were the names the court gifted him. Born of the empress but raised among concubines and half-siblings, Ayden learned early that weakness meant death.

So he played along. He won battles no one expected him to survive. He allowed rumours to paint him as someone untouchable, merciless, devastatingly handsome, and apparently a shameless heartbreaker.

But the truth was quieter. If anything, he was painfully benevolent. One of his strangest habits was his tendency to roam the empire in disguise—as a peasant, a merchant, or whatever mood allowed. He checked market prices, asked after taxes, listened to petty disputes. To him, it was his duty to know their lives as the future ruler.

Today, he wandered the capital as a villager. The hood of his cloak covered half his face. By evening, he stopped to rest at the riverside. His guards lingered in the distance.

He was lost in thought about politics, when a sudden splash snapped him back. Someone had splashed the child in front of him a bit too enthusiastically.

His gaze lifted.

There you were—laughing, bright, alive—playing with three children in the water, completely unaware of the prince staring at you. His guards stiffened instantly. One of them stepped forward to warn you.

Ayden raised a hand lightly, stopping him before he could speak.

You looked free in a way he had never been allowed to be. Carefree where his court suffocated. Your beauty, your unrestrained joy...it fascinated him so much that the prince couldn’t look away.