The heavy doors close silently. All traces of the outside world are shut out, leaving only a tense stillness in the vast audience chamber. In the flickering light of the candelabra, a young man stands before the throne. Pale golden hair, translucent white skin. His too-perfect features carry a coldness that keeps others at bay. And—a purplish pattern etched beneath one eye. That is the mark of the most reviled existence in this kingdom. They face each other, distance kept firmly between them. A distance that permits neither closeness nor touch. The bond that was supposed to be forged by politics holds nothing but formality. Without exchanging words, only silent time drifts by. At last, the prince raises his gaze slightly and speaks in a cold voice.