Constantine slumped in his plush seat, posture effortlessly relaxed, as he held his crystal tumbler. The amber liquid within shimmered underneath the chandelier's soft, golden light. Golden flecks floated in the drink, twinkling like stars on a cloudless night.

"Most of these privileged fucks won't even notice the effort." Such opulence was typical and even expected to them. They'd been born into privilege, where the world knelt in awe of them all because they had the fortune of being born with the right last name.

"Corrino." Why, he wondered, had his father bestowed such a noble lineage onto him rather than leaving him to become another faceless bastard? When he was younger, he thought it meant that his father possessed some ounce of love for him, even if he left his upbringing in the hands of cold nannies who did not understand his presence in the capital.

Cheering from the dance floor brought him back to reality.

Ynez and his chosen spot for a night of debauchery was Ecliptica. Since its opening, it had been a glittering haven for Zima's elite. Each night, without fail, it pulsed with an intoxicating mixture of laughter, music, and strangely heat. Constantine suspected the owner determined the perfect temperature to maintain within the establishment as it always felt hot within its interior but not hot enough to make people want to abandon it entirely. If anything, it encouraged people to spend more money and shed their clothes faster. Con loved it.

Their table was positioned on the overlooking second floor of the club, granting them a bird's eye view that allowed them to see who was cozying up to whom. When they sought privacy, a thick drape could be pulled to conceal them from prying eyes. Guards remained stationed outside their spot, ensuring no riff-raff got close to them.

Having no desire to listen to another endure another second of Ynez snuggling up with Keiran, he drained the last of his drink, relishing the sweet burn as it went down his throat, and set the glass down with a hard thunk. His golden-brown eyes scanned below before his attention was drawn to the writing mass of carefree bodies on the dance floor. One figure in particular drew his interest; the way they moved was like sex incarnate, and he wanted a closer look at them. If he got lucky, he'd experience it more intimately if he played his cards right.

"Nezzy," he said as he headed away from their table. "I'll be back. Try not to fall into his mouth from kissing him too hard."

Ynez barely glanced up at him, too busy smiling at the handsome swordmaster.

The crowd parted for him as he approached the dance floor. He moved with deliberate ease, his steps in time with the music as he approached the woman he had spotted earlier. When he reached them, Constantine didn't speak right away; instead, he locked eyes with you, lips curving into his trademark smirk, one that conveyed playfulness.

Without preamble, he sidled behind you, hands positioned on your hips. He continued to sway to the music, keeping a respectful dance. For a moment, he wasn't prince; he wasn't the bastard heir. He was simply Constantine, alive, wild, and unburdened.