“What is taking you so long??”

Ten grumbles, his lips twitching into a scowl while he struggles with the belt of his gold robe. The ends of his robe are dotted with small diamonds, imitating a sea of stars shying away from the light coming from the chandelier right above his head. Its sleeves wrap lightly around his arms, the silk highlighting their length before cuffing around his wrists. His chest almost feels bare with the thin layer of lace at the V, and his lips feel too slick with rose paint on them. Ten can’t help but think of several ways to escape tonight’s dreadful occasion.

Yuta’s head is still floating in between the huge oak doors of his bed chamber, his eyes shining with a light tint of blue making them look deeper and undeniably pretty. “I’m still waiting,” the Chrysanthemum Throne Prince says a little louder.

“I can’t do this,” Ten finally says, sounding completely defeated. He drops his hands to his sides and flops into the chair beside his dresser. “Why did I even agree to do this?”

Yuta’s laughter is deep and teasing when it bounces off the walls of Ten’s bedroom. The Crown Prince is all smiles when he walks towards Ten. “Oh, come off it, will you? You look great.”

Ten just stares at his reflection at the huge ornate mirror on top of his dresser. His black hair is brushed up to reveal his forehead and his eyes are painted with a soft shade of gold, giving them a lustrous sparkle. He shakes his head, “What if I don’t find someone to marry?”

Yuta sighs, folding his arms across his chest. “Ten, there are hundreds of candidates in the ballroom right now, waiting for you to meet them or at the very least know that they exist. If Johnny was here, he’d probably bring home six girls and ask three of them to marry him.”

Ten’s eyes are suddenly wide, a mix of surprise and anxiety colouring his irises. “Wait, you’ve seen them? They are that many??”

Yuta laughs again. “No, but Hansol told me that before I got here. He’s probably with Mark and the rest of the other young nobles now, drowning themselves in wine at the ball downstairs.”

“Mark’s not even allowed to drink yet,” Ten grumbles and he can feel the knots in his stomach tightening. “Why is everyone here?”

“It’s a royal ball, Ten. A grand one at that,” Yuta reminds him. “All nobles are automatically invited to such events.”

“To spite me?” Ten directs the question more to himself than anyone else. “I just want to curl up and die right this very moment.”

“Oh, stop being dramatic!” Yuta purses his lips, running his fingers through his hair as he takes a good look at himself in the mirror.

“You look nice, by the way,” Ten changes the subject, belatedly noticing the rich teal robe hugging Yuta’s waist and highlighting his handsome torso. The silk flows majestically around the Japan Prince’s feet, mimicking the pour of water to a stream. Its edges are embroidered with silver stems, sprouting white flowers at the skirts, its colour complementing the fairness of Yuta’s skin.

“I downplayed it just for you.” Yuta winks and Ten almost guffaws in his seat.

“Am I supposed to feel threatened now?”

It’s not until five minutes after – when a phrai knocks on the doors of Ten’s chamber and announces that the King’s already waiting for the Thai Prince by the stairwell – that Ten actually gets up on his feet.

“I’m still not sure if this is the right thing to do,” Ten says quietly, brushing his hands on the sides of his robe.

“If you find the one, then it will be,” Yuta replies, opening the doors in front of them.

Ten hopes against hope that he really does find him.

***

“Ladies and gents, and to all the esteemed guests and royals of tonight’s grand ball, it is my honour to present His Royal Highness, Prince Ten, and His Majesty, the King of Siam!”

The doors to the grand ballroom open in one smooth swing, revealing a mirage of colours twinkling beneath the massive chandeliers. The loud applause from the sea of nobles echo inside the grand hall, the sound breathing in Ten’s ears like the wind. Ten can almost feel his knees giving in under the softness of his robe, but he fights it, taking in a sharp breath and steadying himself under the dazzling lights. Beside him, the King is waving at the crowd in his white khrui, smiling fondly at the guests below the winding staircase. Ten knows he’s always loved a grand entrance, but the scale of this party is too much even for someone who loves all the attention in the world.

From this high an entrance, Ten can see everyone inside the star-studded room as he steps on the landing that connects itself to a huge marble staircase leading to the dance floor. At his right, there is a mini orchestra playing a classical piece with four men plucking the strings of their suengs and one drumming his palms on a thon and a rammana.

The ballroom has been transformed into a regal site, the walls draped with rich velvet curtains, pulsing in deep violet and gold, complementing the outfits of passing phrais with purple sashes tied around their chests and waists. The high ceiling is adorned with multiple chandeliers, candles floating above the guests’ heads like a billion tiny stars. On his left, Ten sees a long buffet table, adorned with quaint white silk that bear the Royal Standard’s crest, bottles upon bottles of wine at the ready for the guests’ consumption.

“Smile, my son,” the King’s voice is hushed while he waves at the crowd. “They’re all looking at you.”

And as if a light inside him has been switched on, Ten does what he’s told. His lips stretch into the most breathtaking smile, pulling his cheeks taut and crinkling his eyes in half-crescents. He bows at the crowd before them, few strands of loose hair tickling his forehead. A series of awws and giggles rise from the attendees, ladies and men looking equally smitten by Ten’s undeniable charm.

“I knew they’d like that,” the King teases beside Ten as they make their way down the huge marble staircase.

“Your Majesty,” a tall, lanky man wearing a tuxedo immediately welcomes them at the foot with a bow.

The King nods with a smile as Ten takes his place right next to him.

“I would like to introduce you to my niece, Duchess Wendy of the Ontario Monarchy.” A girl with beautiful red locks and pink lips steps forth, curtsying in front of Ten and the King. Wendy is dressed in a white laced gown with a huge petticoat, her rosy cheeks highlighting her milky complexion.

“It is an honour to meet you, Your Majesty and Your Royal Highness,” the duchess says, her voice sounding like an entrancing melody.

Ten takes her hand and kisses it softly. “The honour’s all mine,” Ten says with a smile, watching Wendy’s cheeks flush in response.

“Your Royal Highness!” a familiar voice rises above the crowd, and Ten immediately glances to his left and sees Prince Heechul from the Kim Dynasty of South Korea’s Eastern Lands, waltzing his way towards their lot, a gold cane twirling in between his fingers.

“Prince Heechul!” Ten coughs out, trying to mask the obvious rise in his voice. “What are you doing here?” News had spread out late last year that the prince was banished from their Kingdom after he was caught sleeping with the King Kim’s wife-to-be.

“My brother isn’t too fond of me lately, so I’ve been sailing around the continent for a few months now. I caught wind about this ball.” Prince Heechul’s smile is still awfully attractive and his thin peach robe doesn’t leave much to the imagination. His bare chest hangs open in the V below his neck and the silk is tight against his skin.

“Hyung,” Ten starts, trying to breeze past the honourifics (Hansol taught him lifetimes ago) in his head.

“Please,” Heechul interjects, “we have equal ranks. You can call me Heechul.”

Ten laughs nervously, watching the King walk towards his Uncle Arthit who is standing in the middle of a crowd of dancing royals just a few feet away. Lord Somchai and Lord Punyaa are right behind the King, their heads turning left and right for possible suspicious figures.

Great, now Ten’s alone.

“We should dance later.” Heechul winks, taking a glass of wine from a passing phrai and downing it in one go. Ten gulps at the sight.

About an hour more of introductions from different nobles and royals – ladies and men alike – follow suit after that, with Ten feeling more and more exhausted and his cheeks feeling incredibly sore from too much smiling.

“Duchess Lisa is also fluent in four languages, Your Royal Highness,” the plump woman dressed in a bright orange dress says from Ten’s side, the colour of her skirt almost blinding Ten as soon as it hits the light coming from the chandelier.

Ten takes a glass of wine from a phrai behind him and drinks it slowly, allowing the alcohol to sit on his tongue. This is gonna be a very long night.

“Ten!!!”

Ten almost drops the glass in his hand when he hears Hansol’s voice, relief instantly washing over him. Beside the General’s son, Yuta is smiling from ear to ear. Finally, he almost says. There is salvation apparently. Duchess Lisa and the woman dressed like an actual orange bow quietly before retreating to the busy crowd.

“What took you so long??” Ten hisses at his friends.

Yuta has this perplexed look on his face. “Were we supposed to meet you earlier? I’m confused.”

Ten rolls his eyes with a sigh. “I was hoping you’d sense how much crisis I was in a little earlier than this.”

Hansol laughs and Ten realizes that his hair has become slightly darker. The General’s son is dressed in a black robe with gray sketches of famous Osaka landscapes, its smooth silk flowing flawlessly around his feet. Yup, this is definitely Yuta’s robe, Ten muses.

“We did,” Yuta finally says in mild defence. “But we were so busy carrying Mark to his carriage so we couldn’t come to you in time.”

Ten’s eyes are suddenly wide in shock. “What happened to Mark?”

Yuta side-eyes Hansol with a scowl. “His fault.”

Hansol chuckles, putting an arm around Yuta and Ten almost misses the light smile that spreads across the Japan Prince’s face. “I might have given him too much wine.”

Ten slaps a hand on his own face. “Hansol! Mark is too young to drink. How many times do I have to remind you—“

“I know, I know…” Hansol says immediately, putting a hand between them. “It’s my fault. I already took full responsibility and sent a note to the prefect at the school mansion to take care of him. It’s not like you wouldn’t have given him wine yourself anyway.” Hansol throws a knowing smirk at Ten.

In Ten’s defence, he would have only given Mark some wine if he asked for it. He wouldn’t be casually handing him a glass just because.

“Oh, look,” Yuta cuts in, pointing to the crowd dispersing around the dance floor. “Looks like the dance is about to start.”

Ten can hear his heart hammering inside his chest. “Wait,” his voice is shaking, “I’m not ready yet.”

“You can’t not be ready,” Yuta whispers harshly as more people come in from the entrance near the gardens, all of them crowding around the now empty dance floor. “This dance is for you. It’s the best way for you to get to know all these people who are vying to be your future spouse.”

“Wait,” Hansol says, his eyes suddenly growing wide. “Is that—“

Ten follows the invisible line leading to where Hansol’s finger is pointed at and the moment he sees him, his entire world stops.

Right at the opposite exit and coming through the garden doors, Taeyong is standing with his hands on his back, body arched and chin high as he surveys the crowd with determined eyes. The mun nai is dressed in a white silk robe, lined with gold embroideries that glisten like diamonds underneath the ceiling lights. Its ends fall attractively on his chest, highlighting his bare collarbones and the paleness of his skin. The mun nai glances up, visibly searching through the crowd, his eyebrows stitching together in apparent worry. His hair is brushed up, revealing his flawless face and his eyes are tinted with a tinge of silver, complementing the colour of his hair. When his eyes find Ten in the busy crowd, Ten can almost feel his lungs resigning, and Taeyong’s worried expression instantly melts off his face.

Time stands still, the sounds quieting and the busy heads of nobles upon nobles disappearing before Ten’s eyes. The strings and percussion are still singing in Ten’s ears, but the music suddenly seems so far away. Instead, it is replaced with a light crescendo of the most beautiful song Ten has ever heard and something inside him is stirring all of his nerves in disarray.

Ten can feel something rising in his chest, the oxygen thinning out inside his lungs, enough to make him suffocate, a part of him paddling into the surface of an unknown to find a room to breathe. Like this, it seems that he has fallen somewhere deeper within himself, further from a place that he knows and recognizes, and it shakes all of Ten awake. In just a single breath, his eyes have willed themselves on their own, locking in on just one person as if his heart has been guiding it for the longest time. Taeyong – that bob of silver hair and the fire in his eyes clinging to every bit of Ten through a single stare and keeping the Thai Prince frozen to the core. There is a weird drumming sound that’s starting to fill the prince’s ears, but it’s not coming from the orchestra now, it’s coming from somewhere deep within the confines of his ribcage, and it makes him feel so nervous. So. Damn. Nervous. Ten doesn’t know where to start saving himself.

Taeyong takes his time pacing towards Ten, his eyes never leaving the Crown Pri