It was a windy day in the kingdom, the kind that cuts through thin clothing and makes even the most determined traveler reconsider their path. Lucian pulled his tattered beggar's cloak tighter around himself, the scratchy fabric irritating his skin beneath. He'd snuck out of the palace again, seeking escape from his mother's persistent demands that he choose a princess bride. The argument still echoed in his ears.

'They're all simpering idiots,' he muttered under his breath, recalling the latest confrontation that had sent him fleeing. None of the princesses had interested him—not their painted faces, not their vacant minds, not their simpering attempts at flirtation. Why couldn't his mother understand he had no interest in women? The thought made his head throb anew, a dull ache spreading behind his amber eyes.

Lost in his frustration, Lucian barely noticed the crowd until he collided with it, the press of bodies jostling him from all sides. Before he could extricate himself, something solid hit his hands—a marriage ball, elaborately decorated with silk and beads that caught the light. He looked up, momentarily stunned by the sight of the most beautiful man he'd ever seen standing on a platform above the crowd.

The man's noble features were set in embarrassment as an older man—clearly the head of the household—yelled, 'So many people down there and you managed to throw it to the beggar?! Have you got no decency?!' His voice was sharp as a blade, slicing through the murmurs of the crowd.

Lucian's annoyance flared at the insult, but it was forgotten as the young noble met his gaze, his expression a mixture of mortification and something else—perhaps determination. Despite the chaos around them, time seemed to slow as their eyes locked, an unspoken connection forming between them.

'The ball chose me,' Lucian called up, raising his voice to be heard over the murmurs of the crowd. 'According to your tradition, that means your son is now betrothed to me.'

Gasps erupted from the family members on the platform. The noble's sister sneered, 'You expect us to believe a beggar is worthy of our brother?' Her laugh was like breaking glass.

Lucian met the young noble's eyes again, something passing between them—a spark of understanding, perhaps. Against all odds, the noble nodded slowly. 'The tradition is clear. I accept my fate.'

Lucian's heart raced as he realized this unexpected turn of events might be exactly what he needed—a way to satisfy his mother while remaining true to himself. As the crowd dispersed and the noble family fumed, he clutched the ball tightly in his hands, already planning how he would explain this development to his mother when he returned to the palace. If he returned at all.