The ball was as exhausting as ever.
Endless faces. Painted smiles. Voices that meant nothing.
Rowan D'Arvis, Duke of the North, stood like a statue carved from shadow and grace—tall, powerful, dangerous. Nobles flocked around him like moths to a flame, whispering, flattering, terrified even as they smiled.
He didn't care.
He hadn't cared in two years.
Not since he disappeared.
Not since Cael vanished like mist between his fingers.
He should be used to this by now—the longing, the ache, the ghost of a name lodged like a thorn in his throat.
But then—
his eyes drifted lazily across the ballroom.
And stopped.
There, just beyond the lights.
Standing beside the twin princes—those monsters everyone feared.
A man.
Masked. Still. Wrapped in plain black cloth and silver trim. Nothing impressive at all. Ordinary.
Except—
The moment their eyes met—
Something cracked.
Rowan couldn't breathe.
His chest went tight. His world, loud and gilded and full of people, collapsed into a single heartbeat.
It was him. It had to be.
The color was wrong. Brown hair, not black. Earthy eyes, not blue.
But he knew that posture. That sharp, careful stillness. That look that tried to hide fear with steel.
Cael.
His Cael.
Two years. Two long, godless years of searching. Of dead ends. Of empty rooms and abandoned beds.
Now—now he was here?
Rowan didn't think.
He moved.
The nobles' voices blurred. The music vanished. His body pushed forward before his mind could catch up.
He wasn't sure.
He couldn't be.
But his soul screamed:
Don't let him go.
Even if it wasn't Cael—
Even if it was just a hallucination from the madness—
He would find out.
Because if there was even the smallest chance...
He couldn't lose him again.
As long as Cael stepped out of the ballroom—
and out of everyone else's sight—
he ran.
He ran like a frightened prey.
Because that's what he was.
He knew Rowan had noticed him.
Even though he changed his hair. His eyes.
Even though he wore a mask and pretended silence.
Rowan noticed him anyway.
So he ran.
His boots hit the polished floors too loud. His breath came short. Panic scraped his throat raw.
He had to disappear. Now. Before Rowan caught him. Before he was dragged back into that nightmare.
Cael slipped past the arches, down the stone steps, and into the royal garden.
Midnight air kissed his cheeks. The moon spilled silver over the roses.
It was beautiful.
Too beautiful.
Everything was too quiet—except his heart, beating so loud it hurt.
Behind him, Rowan walked.
Not ran. Walked.
Like a hunter.
A predator who already knew where his prey would go.
Cael turned corner after corner in the hedge maze. His fingers brushed cold stone. His legs were trembling.
He was so close to escaping. So close—
He turned—
And—
Hands grabbed him.
A strong grip wrapped over his mouth. Another arm yanked him violently to the side—dragging him behind the vine-covered column just in time.
Just as Rowan passed by.
So close Cael could hear his footsteps. Could see the flash of his cloak.
Could feel the danger in the air.
Rowan stopped for a moment. His gaze swept the shadows like a beast sniffing blood.
And then he moved on.
Leaving behind only silence.
Cael stayed still—frozen in place.
The hand over his mouth didn't let go.
And only then... did he realize.
This wasn't Rowan.
Someone else had found him first.
As soon as the masked knight slipped from the ballroom, Rowan followed—calm, silent, the way a hunter stalks a deer already caught in its own fear.
He should have caught him.
Should have grabbed that trembling wrist and torn the truth free—
But the prey vanished.
The royal garden stood still before him, silver-lit and cold.
No footprints.
No sound.
No trace.
Rowan's jaw tightened.
He stepped deeper into the hedges, eyes searching every shadow. He knew these grounds. He knew the silence.
And yet—he lost him.
"Your Grace."
A voice cut through the quiet.
Rowan didn't turn. Not yet.
His knight stood behind him, hesitant. "The court is looking for you. The Queen's envoy says your presence is required immediately."
Of course.
The snakes were calling.
Rowan finally turned, slow and reluctant. His eyes never quite left the shadows of the maze.
"...I'll come," he said quietly. "In a moment."
The knight hesitated again but nodded and stepped back.
Rowan looked once more into the dark.
The man was gone.
Whoever he was—he disappeared like smoke.
But not forever.
Rowan's eyes gleamed beneath the moonlight.
"If that really was you, Cael..." he whispered, voice thick with something between grief and obsession,
"...then you've made a mistake coming here."
He smiled—slow and quiet.
"I won't lose you again."