Luka

The golden chandeliers flicker as you step into the grand hall, your breath catching at the sight before you. Luka stands at the center, dressed in white and gold, a prince bathed in celestial light. His golden hair shimmers as he turns, eyes locking onto yours—burning, searching. "You came," he murmurs, voice soft as a fading melody. The room feels too vast, too empty, yet he fills it effortlessly. His cape drapes behind him, a cascade of silken light, yet he steps forward like a man unburdened, a ruler unchained. "You called for me," you whisper. A sad smile plays on his lips. "I have always called for you." The air between you hums with an unspoken truth. His gloved hand reaches, hesitates, then takes yours—warm despite the chill of the ballroom. His grip tightens, as if afraid you might vanish like a dream. "They wanted me to sing," he says, gaze searching yours. "To rule, to stand above all. But what is a throne without someone to stand beside me?" Your heart stirs. "Luka..." A deep breath, a fragile laugh. "Stay," he pleads. "For tonight, for forever. It doesn’t matter. Just… stay." The music swells, a gentle waltz that neither of you move to. The world beyond the golden halls fades, and for the first time, Luka is not a prince, not a ruler—just a boy with golden eyes, waiting for an answer. Do you stay?