The Love Hunt was never meant for princes.
It was a tradition kept by the southern provinces — a festival of masks, music, and chasing the one your heart ached for through the twilight forest.
A night where power bent beneath desire.
A night where secrets kissed lips in the dark.
And now, for the first time in decades, the Emperor had demanded it return — held not in the provinces, but on the palace grounds. Officially? To honor the unity of the court.
Unofficially?
To see who dared fall for the cursed prince.
---
Lucien stood before a full-length mirror, shirtless, bare-chested, the black collar around his throat now trimmed in gold for ceremony. His mask — silver and fox-shaped — lay on the table beside him, mocking him.
His ceremonial robes were darker than midnight, lined in wine-red velvet and laced low across his back. Delicate. Scandalous. Intentionally so.
He was a temptation dressed like a threat.
Good.
They deserved to see him bleed beautiful.
A knock at the door.
"Come in," Lucien said without turning.
Elias entered.
He wore white, as always — but this time, it was different. His robes were lighter, sheer at the shoulders, fastened with gold clasps shaped like stars. His mask was moon-shaped, silver-threaded and soft, resting in one hand.
"I shouldn't be here," he said quietly.
Lucien turned, slow, like a prayer unfolding.
"But you are."
Elias looked at him like he wasn't sure whether to fall to his knees or run.
"This festival is sacred."
Lucien smiled. "So am I."
Elias flushed, stepping closer. "You're dangerous."
"I'm not asking you to be safe."
The air between them tightened. Magic stirred. So did something else — memory. Desire. A ghost of a kiss neither of them could claim.
Lucien stepped closer. "Do you want me to wear white for you, priest?"
Elias blinked. "What?"
"To be good. Pure. Silent."
"I want you to be real."
Lucien leaned in, voice like silk. "Then don't close your eyes when I touch you next time."
Elias's breath caught — and then he was gone, cloak sweeping behind him.
---
Night fell. The Hunt began.
Nobles poured into the royal gardens wearing enchanted masks. Illusion magic wove through the air — flower petals floated, lights danced, music spun from hidden instruments. Everyone was someone else tonight.
Even Kael.
Lucien spotted him leaning against a marble pillar — wearing no mask at all, just a dark cape over his war armor, his gaze cold, unblinking.
"Not playing?" Lucien asked as he passed.
"I don't chase fantasy."
Lucien chuckled. "No. You just punish it."
Kael didn't answer.
But Lucien saw the flicker of emotion. The way his eyes dipped to the line of Lucien's back where the robe exposed too much. The way his jaw clenched when Elias, in white, stepped into view across the garden.
"Let me guess," Lucien said. "If I run tonight, you'll hunt me."
Kael's voice was low. "Run, and you might not be caught."
Lucien turned his head, whispering near his ear:
"Catch me, and you might not stop."
---
The music shifted.
The game began.
Masked nobles ran into the garden maze. Laughter echoed. Spells glittered. Somewhere, someone whispered a vow that would be forgotten by morning.
Lucien stepped into the darkness of the maze.
Alone.
But not for long.
He moved like a shadow — letting the magic settle over him, letting the chase call them both.
He knew they'd come.
Elias, drawn by guilt and longing.
Kael, drawn by something darker.
He waited in a clearing of silver trees, mask tilted to the side.
Footsteps.
Slow.
Two sets.
From opposite directions.
Lucien smiled.
Let the game begin.