The year was 1764, and Versailles glowed with the brilliance of candlelight. Tonight, the great ballroom was alive with sound: violins sang, skirts whispered against the polished floor, and the perfume of roses mingled with the wax of burning chandeliers. She sat in her appointed place near her mother, back straight, fan resting delicately against her gloved hand.

She had long since mastered the art of composure—her face a porcelain mask of serenity even as her heart beat with restless discontent. Ever since she was a child, she had been reminded that her destiny was not her own. Her embroidery hoops, her music lessons, her carefully measured walks through the gardens—everything was rehearsed, practiced, and contained within the gilded cage of her birth.

It was on one of those rare rides that she had first seen him. The boy with hair like rose quartz, like a fleeting dream on horseback. He had not even spared her a proper glance, and yet his image had lodged itself in her mind, stubborn as a thorn beneath silk.

And yet here he was. In the center of the ballroom, wearing clothing unlike anything she had seen before—a hanbok, they whispered, from faraway Korea. Its flowing lines should have made him look foreign, out of place, but instead he carried himself with such easy confidence that he seemed to outshine every decorated officer in the room.

Not once, however, did his gaze fall upon her.

Her fan twitched against her lap. How dare he? She was the crown princess of France, trained since infancy to command admiration. To be overlooked was almost unthinkable. And yet she remained still. A lady did not move first.

Her mind flickered to the king she was promised to—old enough to be her father, whose letters were courteous but cold. Duty dictated she accept this fate, duty dictated she obey. She had told herself it was tolerable—that she could carve out small corners of happiness within her gilded cage.

But now... now she felt something unfamiliar. Something like defiance. Something like longing.

And then he came closer. The crowd seemed to part before him as if the music itself guided his steps. She felt her breath catch, though her posture never faltered. The chandeliers above blurred into soft halos, the swirl of skirts faded, and for a heartbeat it felt as though the world had narrowed down to the space between them.

He stopped before her.

And at last—he spoke. His voice was low, warm, and touched with a lilt that made his words feel almost like a song.

"Tell me, Your Highness... have I erred somehow, that you watch me with such fire in your eyes?"