Yujin woke with a heaviness in his head and a sense of being shattered. The sunlight streaming through the curtains seemed too bright after the recent night.

He sat on the edge of the bed for a long time, clenching his fists until his knuckles turned white. The bath became his refuge—he scrubbed his skin with a washcloth until it was red, as if trying to wash away both the traces of his fantasies and the memory of that kiss. But the water cooled, while the shame did not.

Breakfast passed in silence. Yujin picked at a fragrant vegetable omelet with his fork, avoiding the servants' gazes. The negotiation room was abuzz the moment he crossed the threshold. Seeing him, the ministers and advisors beamed.

"Your Highness, it's brilliant! You've won his favor immediately!" one whispered in admiration.

"Arm in arm with the first prince! We've already won half the negotiations!" another chimed in.

The military and some of the nobility, however, looked at him as if he were a traitor.

"Lying with a man—that's not diplomacy, it's disgrace," one hissed.

"We should have demanded tax reductions, not this," another uttered haughtily.

Yujin sat down, feeling heat rise to his cheeks. His fingers nervously crumpled the hem of his soft green shirt.

Philimona stood by the window, clenching her fists. She didn't want to look at her brother. 

"He's not worthy..." she said quietly.

Philimona's heart was in such turmoil for the first time in her life. When she saw First Prince Errol yesterday—tall, stately, so handsome—something tightened inside.

And at night... She bit her lip, remembering how her fingers had slid between her legs, how she imagined the first prince's hands on her waist, his lips on her breast... *He* should have proposed to her, not her spineless little brother! Her nails dug into her palms. If Yujin stayed here, she would become the sole heir to her country—that's exactly what she wanted! So why did a convulsive sigh keep escaping her chest?...

After lunch, the next round of negotiations was scheduled. Philimona decided there was no longer any point in playing a servant and changed into a beautiful blue silk dress. She twirled in front of the mirror, noting with pleasure that even with short hair, she was quite lovely. She was now the niece of one of the delegation officials and could at least put in a word at the upcoming talks. Standing in a corner, unable to express her opinion, had become an unbearable burden for her. Philimona snorted contemptuously, remembering her brother's seemingly rigid back—he sat there and couldn't even utter a word, though his life depended on it!

"Fool..." she muttered and pushed open the carved door.

He was sitting in the drawing room as if awaiting a verdict. Philimona snorted, folding her arms across her chest.

"Well, brother," she smirked, "how did you manage to pull that off? What tricks did you use to convince the first prince to walk arm in arm with you in front of the entire court?"

Yujin felt goosebumps run down his spine. 

"I... I didn't use any tricks," he replied. "It just... happened."

Philimona laughed—sharply, without warmth.

"Oh, yes, of course! 'Just happened'!"

Yujin clenched his fists.

"You wanted me to agree to this marriage yourself. To leave and leave the kingdom to you! Why are you..."

Philimona arched an eyebrow.

"Because I don't believe it. You, the eternal milksop, suddenly managed to charm such a strong and handsome man on the continent? Don't make me laugh!"

To be honest, Yujin himself didn't understand. Why was Errol so interested in him?

However, something in his sister's biting words bothered him. And suddenly he understood: she was angry because First Prince Errol desired *him*, not her. Even if only nominally, still. As if she, the first princess, had been slighted.

"You... you're jealous?" he couldn't believe his own words.

Philimona froze. For a second, something wild, almost wounded, flashed in her eyes, but it immediately vanished under a mask of contempt.

"Don't be an idiot," she straightened up, adjusting her sleeve. "Just remember—one thing is to disappear quietly, another is to soar so high. Falling from such a height... hurts very much."

She turned and left, slamming the door.

***

The throne hall was flooded with cold light from the tall stained-glass windows. A long table divided the room into two camps: on one side—the delegation of Fitasentia, on the other—Raumliveria. Between them—advisors, treasurers, and military men, forming an impenetrable wall.

Yujin sat, trying to maintain a composed expression, but his fingers anxiously fidgeted with the hem of his silk shirt. Errol opposite—relaxed, almost bored—but his violet eyes kept sliding towards Yujin, lingering on his lips, collarbones, the nervous flutter of his lashes.

"Your Highness, according to clause seven, taxes on imported goods should be revised..." the treasurer of Fitasentia droned on monotonously.

Errol lazily propped his head on his hand, not taking his eyes off Yujin.

"Perhaps we should discuss the main issue first?" he intentionally paused. "For example... conditions of a personal nature?" 

Silence fell over the hall. Yujin felt blood rush to his cheeks.

"Your Highness, personal matters will be considered after all documents are signed," the senior advisor of Fitasentia said, casting a suspicious glance at Errol.

"Is that so?" Errol smiled, but irritation flashed in his eyes. "So I can't even talk to my own fiancé?"

"Everything in its own time," the treasurer replied coldly. "State affairs first."

"Very well," Errol unclasped his folded fingers, demonstratively leaning back in his chair.

"Then let's finish with these papers quickly."

Yujin remained silent, looking ahead. And Errol had already realized yesterday that they wouldn't be given a chance to talk alone, which is why he came at night. Though, of course, the Fitasentian delegation didn't need to know that—that would be one shock too many.

The negotiations dragged on excruciatingly. Every point was debated until hoarse, every word weighed as if on scales. Yujin felt like a puppet—nodding when required, signing what was placed before him, and all the while catching Errol's hot gaze, which seemed to burn right through him.

When they finally announced the day's adjournment, Yujin jumped up, hoping for at least a moment alone with the first prince, but the advisors immediately surrounded him in a tight ring.

"Your Highness, you need to rest," the senior treasurer said insistently, practically leading him away.

Errol, left standing by the table, clenched his fists. He was irritated. These old moles were deliberately hiding his treasure from him! But the more they interfered, the clearer he understood: Yujin would belong to him. And no papers would change that.