Stay with me

✧Meet prince charming ✧

The sun came up over Beaumont like it had somewhere to be, gold light sliding across the palace walls until every hallway looked freshly gilded. By the time the early-morning hush wore off, the whole place was in motion — staff moving fast and quiet through the corridors, polishing silver that was already spotless, adjusting flowers that were already perfect. Today was the day. Prince Hans was meeting his betrothed, Lady Danica of House Robbins, and nothing in this palace was going to look less than flawless when she walked through those doors.

Queen Narissa had planned the luncheon down to the second. This was a moment she'd been building toward, in her head, since Hans was small enough to carry — and she wasn't about to let a single detail slip. Delicacies flown in from across the continent. Wine from the family's own southern vineyards, the good stuff, the kind usually saved for coronations. Music drifting through the hall like it had been composed specifically for this occasion, because as far as she was concerned, it had.

Down the hall, Hans stood in front of his mirror, a red velvet blazer over a black roll-neck shirt, every stitch of it tailored within an inch of its life. The outfit was perfect. His face was not. His usual warmth had gone cold and calculating, jaw set, eyes doing that thing they only did when he was furious and determined not to show it.

He hadn't asked for this. Hadn't wanted any part of it.

And yet here it was, arriving whether he wanted it or not.

"You look handsome, Hans." His mother's voice, light and pleased, drifted in behind him. "The image of your father, back when he was young."

He gave a stiff nod, adjusting his cuffs without meeting her eyes in the mirror. "So I've been told."

She studied him a beat too long, trying to read whatever was sitting behind that flat tone — but before she could push further, a car horn cut through the quiet outside, echoing off the palace gates.

"They're here!" Her whole face lit up. She was practically floating out of the room before the sound had even faded, leaving Hans to trail after her, each step heavier than the last.

Behind the calm mask, his jaw was locked tight. His plan was simple, if not exactly noble: be difficult. Be cold. Make this girl so uncomfortable she'd want out of the engagement before it even started. He had no interest in playing devoted prince to a total stranger — not when his heart was already spoken for, a hundred percent, by someone this palace would never approve of.

A faint smirk pulled at his mouth as he walked. *Fine. Let's put on a show, then.*

The palace's grand doors swung open with all the ceremony Beaumont could muster — trumpets, the works. The Earl and Countess of Beaumont entered arm in arm, regal and composed, their daughter a step behind them.

Danica.

She looked like something out of a painting — a peach cocktail dress that caught the light just right against her skin, her hair swept into an effortless half-bun, poise radiating off her without a hint of performance to it. Her eyes swept the hall, curious and sharp, and landed on him.

And everything just... stopped.

Hans, who'd walked in fully intending to remain unbothered, found himself completely silent instead. He'd traveled to a dozen kingdoms, been paraded in front of baronesses and heiresses and self-proclaimed beauties from three different continents, and not one of them had ever done “this” — stilled the air in a room just by standing in it. Something about her cracked straight through the bitterness he'd walked in armored with.

She’s just another pretty girl. He told himself, firm.

It didn't land. Not even a little.

Queen Narissa swept forward, arms already open. "Welcome, my dear friends! It's so wonderful to see you again." She pulled the Countess into a warm embrace while King Lancelot clasped hands with the Earl, the two of them grinning like old war buddies.

"Please, take your seats." The king gestured grandly toward the banquet table, gold-rimmed china and cascading floral arrangements stretched down its length like something out of a wedding magazine.

As everyone settled, the king leaned toward his old friend with a teasing glint in his eye. "I'll say this, Robbins — your daughter is an absolute stunner."

"You honor us, Your Majesty." The Earl inclined his head.

Danica dropped into a graceful curtsy, offering the king a smile that was warm without giving too much away.

The meal rolled out in full royal excess — truffle fries, delicately smoked salmon, a chicken salad that probably cost more than most people's rent, skewers of something perfectly charred, and the palace's famous onion rice. Three bottles of aged French wine stood ready at the center of the table, and the king popped the first one open with a flourish that suggested he'd been waiting for an excuse all day.

Glasses clinked. Conversation eased into motion. Queen Narissa turned toward Danica with a bright, polished smile.

"So, my dear — tell us a little about yourself."

Danica took a slow sip of wine, composed, ready. "I'm currently studying Creative Art at the University of Brooklyn, Your Majesty."

"How fascinating." The Queen leaned in, genuinely interested. "I've always had such admiration for the arts. What drew you to it?"

Something in Danica's expression lit up, unguarded for the first time all evening. "Art connects people. It brings out emotion, makes people think — it says things words can't always manage. I've always wanted to use it to make some kind of difference, even a small one."

"How delightful." Narissa beamed. "Talent *and* vision."

King Lancelot raised an eyebrow, a teasing smile tugging at his mouth. "Pity you'll have other duties to juggle alongside your art, once you're settled here."

The table chuckled. Even Danica laughed — though underneath it, she felt the quiet reminder land exactly where it was meant to: her future was already shifting, whether she'd agreed to it or not.

Through all of it, she noticed something strange. Prince Hans hadn't said a single word since the meal started. He was watching her instead — steady, unreadable, but not unkind. Not cold, either, despite everything she'd heard about him.

When he finally spoke, his voice came out low. Careful. Sincere in a way that surprised her.

"That's genuinely admirable." He leaned forward slightly. "I've always appreciated art, even without any talent for it myself. Maybe we could talk about it sometime?"

Danica blinked, caught off guard. She'd braced herself for arrogance, for distance — not this. Not something that actually sounded real.

"I'd love that, Your Grace." She smiled, warmer now, some of the tension in her shoulders easing.

Across the table, the Queen and Countess traded a satisfied glance. "Well," Narissa murmured, "it seems the two of you are off to a rather lovely start."

For the first time since walking into that room, Danica felt like an actual person — not a future duchess, not a decorative addition to someone else's legacy, just herself. Her chest warmed at the feeling, even as some quieter part of her whispered a warning not to get too comfortable.

Conversation drifted from there — estate mergers, court policy, what would happen next if the prince chose to officially move forward with her. Plates were cleared. A final round of wine made its way around the table.

But Hans had checked out of the conversation entirely, his mind somewhere else. The plan he'd walked in with — irritate her, drive her off, make himself as unbearable as possible — had evaporated somewhere between the fries and the fourth time she'd made him forget what he was supposed to be doing. Now he just felt curious. Intrigued. Unsettlingly nervous, if he was being honest with himself, which he mostly wasn't.

As the table quieted, he stood, and before he could talk himself out of it, extended a hand.

"Would you care to take a walk with me, my lady?"

Danica glanced toward her parents, thrown for a second. But something in his eyes wasn't a command. It was an actual invitation — and that, more than anything, was what got her moving.

"I'd love to, Your Grace." She placed her hand in his.

Soft gasps rippled around the table. The Queen's eyebrows shot skyward. The king's goblet froze halfway to his mouth. The Countess blinked in open surprise, while the Earl gave the smallest, most approving nod anyone at that table had ever seen from him.

"Well." King Lancelot cleared his throat, amused. "I suppose we'll simply have to trust the two of them to behave themselves."

The Queen laughed behind her hand. "Of course. Our son makes excellent decisions." She said it like she was convincing herself as much as anyone.

As Hans and Danica disappeared into the palace gardens, sunlight and the smell of lilacs trailing after them, their parents stayed behind at the table, watching the space where they'd been standing.

"She's different," the Queen said quietly.

"She is." The king nodded, something thoughtful crossing his face. "Maybe that's exactly what he needs."

The Earl and Countess exchanged a look of their own — quiet, knowing, a little uncertain. Their daughter had just stepped into a world that was about to ask a lot more of her than either of them had prepared her for.