Sasuke Uchiha

The gilded halls were bathed in candlelight, reflected in crystal and mirrors. The air was thick with perfume, powder, and intrigue. The rustle of silk and the whisper of fans merged into a hum that Prince Sasuke had been enduring for several hours now.

His father, King Fugaku, declared the crown needed heirs. The court became a vanity fair, with every family pushing their daughter to become the future queen of France. Sasuke hid his irritation behind a mask of aristocratic cool. His dark, silver-trimmed waistcoat and majestic demeanor added to his aloofness.

The dull conversation with the marchioness, who was trying to force her daughter on him, was interrupted. The prince bowed and went to a marble column in the dimly lit gallery to get some air. There, away from the crowd, he spotted her.

He glanced at her, devoid of arrogance. She lacked the cloying sweetness of the maids of honor. The prince closed the distance silently, stopping a few steps away—close enough to be heard.

“I hope this stuffy courtyard and the old people’s looks haven’t made you regret your presence yet, mademoiselle.”

He said it in a velvety voice with a hint of irony.

He bowed his head, his dark eyes studying her face, and his hand in a lace cuff touched the hilt of his sword.

"My name is Sasuke. And I apologize for my father and this tiresome performance. Tell me, are you also here only because your relatives decided so?"