Aurein's POV
The hall shimmered beneath thousands of glass lanterns, their pale glow reflecting off the marble floor like scattered stars. The grand celebration of my eighteenth year had begun, and all of Ardentia gathered to witness it.
"King Lucen, Queen Crysta, and Prince Aurein— we offer you a dance in honor of the crown prince's eighteenth birthday," the master of ceremonies announced, his voice echoing proudly across the palace courtyard. "Presenting... the Moon Dancers."
Thunderous applause surged through the crowd.
Then they appeared.
The Moon Dancers—Ardentia's most revered performers—stepped into the light as though they were born from it. Their movements were fluid, impossibly soft, the way silk might drift on the gentlest wind. Every sweep of their hand, every turn of their wrist, seemed to stir the air itself. Their faces were covered in veil that no one can see their beauty, but they show it through their actions.
No one danced like them.
No one could dance like them.
Their bodies were supple, graceful, ethereal.
They were pale, slender, refined to a softness almost unreal—skin like porcelain, limbs delicate yet controlled, long hair cascading like silver waterfalls. Anyone who saw them for the first time would mistake them for maidens of divine beauty.
But they were men.
Men sculpted into elegance.
And here in the Kingdom of Ardentia, they were sacred.
It was said their dance was touched by the blessing of the Moon Goddess herself, capable of easing burdens and lifting one's spirit into peace.
Even as a child, I had admired them—watched them from afar, mesmerized, yearning. And the secret I buried deep within my chest, was that I wanted to be one of them.
I wanted to dance as they did.
To move freely.
To express myself without restraint or fear.
Whenever I was alone, I mimicked their movements. I practiced the tilt of a wrist, the sweep of a foot, the gentle arch of a spine. In the stillness of my chambers, I became weightless—like moonlight given form.
But I could never tell my father, the King.
I was the sole heir of Ardentia.
The one who must learn swordsmanship.
The one who must command armies.
The one destined to strategize wars and choose a queen to continue the royal line.
A dancer?
A Moon Dancer?
That dream, to them, was an insult.
I once confessed it to my mother.
Only once.
She slapped me before I could even finish speaking.
She said Moon Dancers were too effeminate, too gentle, too soft—traits unbecoming of a future king. If other kingdoms ever saw weakness in me, she said, they would overlook diplomacy and invade without hesitation.
From that day on, the subject was forbidden.
Tonight, as the dancers glided across the stage, my father sighed contentedly.
"Nothing lightens the heart quite like their dance," he said, eyes soft with wonder.
I smiled faintly and returned my gaze to the stage—only to feel a sharp prick of tension tighten the air. My mother was staring at me.
Her expression was cold.
Unamused.
Warning.
She shook her head slowly... deliberately... as if telling me:
Do not be drawn to them. Do not even think it.
A lump formed in my throat.
My smile faltered.
Still, I looked back at the dancers and tried to lose myself in their movements, imagining—if only for a moment—that I stood among them.
What is so wrong with wanting this?
What is so wrong with wanting peace within myself instead of violence in my hands?
I did not want to lead armies.
I did not want to shed blood.
I did not crave conquest or domination as they wished of me.
My parents insisted this path was my fate.
But deep inside, I knew—
It wasn't mine.
As I watched the Moon Dancers, their veils shimmering under moonlight, I felt that same pull.
The same longing.
The same ache.
Why must being myself be forbidden... simply because I was born a prince?
Tonight, more than ever, I wished I could step onto that stage... and dance freely.
* * *
When the final cheers faded and the grand celebration for my birthday finally ended, I slipped away from the palace—alone, unnoticed. Midnight had already claimed the sky, and everyone else was still lost in festivity. No one saw me escape into the dark.
The sky above was a deep, endless velvet.
The moon hung bright, full, serene—watching me.
And the stars glimmered like scattered eyes that followed my every step.
I wandered into the forest beyond the palace walls, to a secluded spring where the moonlight shimmered on the surface of the water like silver being poured into a basin.
Here, no guards stood watch.
No servants followed.
No expectations weighed on my shoulders.
Here... I could breathe.
I stepped onto the soft grass and slowly removed my shoes and upper garments—my robe, my sash—until only my trousers remained. The cool night air brushed against my skin like a whisper.
I closed my eyes and inhaled deeply.
Then, gently, I raised my right hand.
The moment my fingers lifted, something inside me loosened—uncoiled.
I moved.
I danced.
I followed the flow of the stream beside me, letting the sound of its water become my music. My arms glided through the air like drifting silk. My feet pressed lightly into the soil with each turn. Every twist of my body, every sweep of my hands, made my soul feel weightless.
For a moment, I wasn't a prince.
I wasn't an heir.
I wasn't trapped.
I was simply... me, a moon dancer.
But that shattered in an instant.
My foot landed on a sharp rock hidden under the grass.
Pain shot up my leg. My balance broke—and I fell forward with a startled gasp.
Only... I never hit the ground.
Strong arms caught me.
"Prince Aurein?" a deep, startled voice said.
My eyes flew open. I froze.
"G-General Voltaire?" I whispered, stunned.
Because the man before me—holding me—was none other than General Voltaire, one of my father's most trusted commander, the youngest and most formidable general in Ardentia.
His grip was firm. His scent held faint steel and earth. And his face—stone-hard, scarred, handsome—was inches from mine.
I immediately swallowed hard and jerked away, nearly stumbling as I steadied myself.
He said nothing at first.
He simply stared—eyes wide, brows furrowed, mouth slightly parted—as if trying to understand what he had just seen.
"What... what are you doing here, General Voltaire?" I asked, my voice tight with panic. In my mind, a single terrified question repeated: How much did he see?
"I was patrolling the perimeter of the forest," he said, still watching me closely, "when I heard movement... footsteps. I came to investigate. I did not expect it to be you, Prince Aurein."
My pulse hammered painfully.
"Did—did you see me just now?" I asked nervously.
He nodded once.
I felt the color drain from my face.
"No..." I said, my voice trembling.
I turned away, desperate to leave, but the moment I stepped forward, pain shot up my foot again. I stumbled—and fell.
"Prince Aurein!" General Voltaire said quickly, rushing to my side.
He knelt in front of me and gently took hold of my injured foot before I could protest.
"It seems the wound is a bit deep," he said, inspecting the cut as blood dripped onto his hand. "Your foot is bleeding heavily."
"L-Let me go..." I muttered, flustered. I couldn't bring myself to look at him.
But he ignored my weak protest.
With a swift motion, he tore off a strip from the sleeve of his own uniform—his pristine, navy-blue commander's coat—and wrapped it firmly around my foot to stop the bleeding.
I watched as his hands—strong, calloused from countless battles—handled my injury with surprising gentleness. The contrast left something strange blooming in my chest.
General Voltaire...
the man feared across kingdoms...
the man who bore scars from defending our land...
the man only six years older than me but revered as a war prodigy...
...was kneeling before me.
He was close enough for me to see the faint scruff on his jaw, the constellations of old scars on his arms, the quiet intensity in his eyes.
He looked like a man carved from stone and flame—someone who had tasted blood and war far too early.
Yet here he was... patching up the prince who had been secretly dancing under the moon.
For the first time in my life...
I didn't know whether to fear him.
Or trust him.
"What did you see, General Voltaire? Tell me," I asked, my voice low as I stared straight into his eyes.
He met my gaze—and for a moment, the world seemed to still around us. His eyes were sharp, steady, unreadable... and dangerously close to seeing more than he should.
"I only saw you lose your balance when I arrived, Prince Aurein," he said in a serious, even tone.
Relief burst from my chest.
So he didn't see my dancing.
Or so I thought.
"Come," he said. "I will escort you back to the palace."
Before I could object, before I could even breathe, he suddenly swept me off the ground.
"G-General! Put me down!" I said, flustered.
"You can't walk properly," he said. "As the crown prince, it is my duty to safeguard you."
I had no choice but to sigh in defeat.
He carried me effortlessly—his strength undeniable, his grip steady. His hands were warm where they held beneath my knees and around my back, heat seeping through my skin, making my heart pound in ways I didn't understand. I tried not to look at him, but I couldn't stop stealing glances, searching for any hint of judgment, amusement... anything.
But his face remained stoic.
Focused.
Unreadable.
Then—
"Forgive me, Prince Aurein," he said quietly, "but I lied."
I stiffened. "Huh?"
He continued walking without looking at me.
"You wish to become a Moon Dancer, don't you?" he asked—and then he finally glanced down at me.
My breath stopped.
I felt my entire soul try to flee from my body.
"Please!" I said, panicking. "Whatever you saw, don't tell my parents! I know you are loyal to my father, but—please—don't tell him what you witnessed!"
A smirk curved on his lips.
A smirk I immediately disliked.
"You move very delicately," he said. "Almost like a real Moon Dancer."
"You shouldn't tease me, General! You know I outrank you!" I said, annoyed.
"I'm not teasing you, my prince," he said calmly. "I'm stating the truth." Then he added, "And I promised His Majesty that I would report everything I witness."
"General!"
"But..." he said, pausing just long enough to make my heart sink, "my mind could change."
I clenched his coat. "H-How? What do you want in return for your silence? Money? Treasure? Women? Anything—I will give you whatever you want!"
"I don't need any of that," he said.
"Then what?"
He stopped walking.
Completely.
He looked straight at me—his eyes heavy, the moonlight reflecting faintly on his lashes. He lowered his gaze slightly, his expression shifting... almost softening... and then—
"I want you to dance for me," he said quietly. "Right in front of me."
My eyes widened in pure shock.
"What?"
"You heard me, my prince," he said. "Dance for me. That is the price for my silence."
"You're cunning!" I snapped. "You are using my weakness to get what you want despite my higher status than you!"
He chuckled under his breath—deep, low, infuriating—and continued walking.
"Your choice, Prince Aurein. Once we return to the palace, I will reveal your greatest secret to the king."
"Fine! Fine! I'll do it! I'll dance for you once my foot heals!" I said desperately.
"Then we understand each other perfectly, Prince Aurein."
I glared at him in silent fury.
General Voltaire now held my secret.
My identity.
My freedom.
All in the palm of his hand.
As he carried me back toward the palace, only one question spun endlessly in my mind.
Why does he want me to dance for him?
End of Chapter 1