Prince Lucas liked to play the flute, and he oftentimes played it in the morning when he woke up. He usually asked for breakfast right after he played, so I, after a while, started to catch the hint and get his breakfast as soon as I heard the sweet whispers of a bright morning song. I wondered why he was up this early. Usually, his body woke him at a later time, like seven o’clock or so. I knew his usual patterns by heart, having seen him go through the motions every day.

Maybe he couldn’t sleep, plagued with dreams of last night’s events just like I was.

I almost knocked on his door when I returned, but the relaxing lull of the flute beckoned for me irresistibly. If I did knock, Luke would stop his playing, and I didn’t want that. I wanted to see him play, see that confident smile grace his features, his expression of joy.

So I slipped in the door, carrying the tray of food, determined to get a glimpse of him when playing. He was not immediately in the room, where I expected him to be, so it took a few seconds for me to spot him. When I finally did, for on the balcony he was, I placed the tray on the ground, careful not to make a clatter, and headed towards the irresistible attraction.

It was wonderful, just like his voice, an interweaving of notes, chords, and melodies, a collage of emotions that stung my heart. It seemed to tell a story, and though I couldn’t distinguish it from the song alone, I seemed to understand the emotions it was trying to convey.

It was a sweet song, a beautiful melody, until a crash of some kind, a downfall. It was like a completely different song then, full of terror, hurt, and anger. Then, just as the song reaches it’s climax, the sweet song creeps in, taking over the crash, the angry song, until the sweet song was the only thing you could hear, as if the angry one never existed.

Luke turned from the balcony, the song over just as quickly as it started, and met my gaze.

I had never felt so in love as I did just then.

His face was stunning, his golden hair sparkling, his hazel eyes clear as could be. He was adorned in light, loose clothes, his huge muscles seen through his shirt. His expression was not of surprise, but sadness, exhaustion in his features from the effort the beautiful song had cost him.

“I feel so terrible,” he said softly, looking directly at me, “You know that feeling, right? That feeling that you did something you shouldn’t have and you can’t take it back?”

I nodded. I understood that feeling very, very well.

“Well,” he continued, “I wish I could take back my frustration from last night,” his eyes were blurry and unfocused. Obviously he had done a lot of tossing and turning the previous night. “I know it must be hard for you, being a slave.”

I nodded, apology already accepted. The word slave still bit at me, but not when he used the word so apologetically.

“I forget that you don’t know love,” he whispered, his eyes directly on mine. I knew he didn’t mean parental love, but a different variety I had never experienced before.

He came to sit by me, his closeness taking my breath away. The tips of his knee was touching mine, energy surging through us both from that one touch. He brought his hand to my face, pulling it until it was directly in his view. “You are so stunning,” he whispered, stroking my hair softly, my cheek, my nose. Then he laughed. “I never liked that silly style of curling your hair until it burned away.”

“Really?” I asked, my eyes alight with surprise. Princess Marilyn had the perfect curly hair, in tight coils, bouncy and inviting. It attracted men to her like bees to honey. How could he be so different from all the others?

“Yes,” he said laughingly, amusement across his features, “I much prefer your dark hair that doesn’t stick out in every direction.”

He truly was a strange man. But it only attracted me to him more, his quirky ideas a pleasure for me to listen to.

“Well, thank you,” I laughed. Luke stopped touching my hair, a strange expression on his handsome face. “What?” I asked curiously as I watched his frozen form.

“I’ve never heard your laugh before,” he said softly. I realized that I had never laughed in front of him, even after the weeks upon weeks of talking to him, seeing him, loving him.

I had not laughed since the day my parents died.

“Well, not anymore,” I smiled, my fingers reaching hesitantly for his arm. I wrapped my hand around his muscled wrist, my hand grazing his. He looked at me, a smile on his handsome face, and he laughed softly.

“I guess so.”

I smiled, my white teeth shining in the rather darkened room.

“So, do you think you could?” he asked me anxiously.

I had frozen, eyes wide with surprise. My hand dangled at my side, my hair waving in the breeze. I had never expected Lucas to do something like this.

Luke had just asked me to attend the annual Yen Ball as his partner.

“But Luke!” his name came easier to me than ever, effortless to say, “I’m a slave!”

“Not for much longer,” he said quietly. My eyes widened, my mouth stretched into a smile.

“You’re going to release me?” I asked, my breath suddenly catching in my throat. He nodded slowly, a smile to mirror my own on his handsome features.

These last days had been the best of my life.

Since that morning following Luke’s outburst, Luke had stayed in his room all day, I sent to tell everyone he was sick. It was fun, seeing his face every second of the day, and we both enjoyed the chance to be with each other. Talk with each other.

We had talked about our pasts, I spilling the story about my parents in the Hundred Year’s War, he talking about his dead mother. We found out even more about each other than before, growing closer in the process.

But this? This was amazing.

“Thank you!” I exclaimed, practically jumping on his, my lips racing to meet his. It was a beautiful feeling, kissing Prince Lucas, and I just couldn’t get enough of it. His lips were just so incredibly soft, like a dream, his perfect face’s closeness sending tingles throughout my entire body.

He laughed, his hands around my waist. “You’re very welcome,” he replied genially.

We just stood in that position, his hand around my waist, I leaning against him, reveling in his sweet warmth.