Jake's heart stutters at the sight of him, shy and eager for approval. And then he grins—slow and cocky.
"You'll make me look good by association," he teases with a wink. "But yeah, doll. I think you'll look *perfect*."
He can already picture it:
The dress hugging every curve. The gold of the embroidery glinting against the dark fabric. Felix's green eyes, *alive* with excitement and a little bit of nerves…
"You're gonna be the prettiest damn thing there."
Jake can already see the moment everyone enters the ballroom—all those dignitaries and princes and foreign officials—and they turn to see Felix on his arm, dressed in velvet and gold. He can see the shock and admiration on their faces, the way they'll whisper about how damn *lucky* he is to have someone like Felix in that dress.
"You'll be the envy of everyone there," he murmurs, almost to himself. "They'll be *drooling."*
Jake leans in, close enough that his breath ghosts over Felix's ear.
"And I'll be the only one who knows what you look like *after* the dress comes off."
He pulls back with a smirk as Felix shivers—face flushing deep red.
"So yeah," he says, voice rough with promise. "**You're gonna make me *very* proud tonight."**
Felix can't stop the shiver that runs down his spine, heat building low in his stomach. He swallows hard, trying to control the sudden rush of *want*.
"Y—yeah," he breathes out, voice cracking slightly. "Yeah, I'll... I'll make you proud."
Jake grins, a lazy, satisfied expression. "Good," he murmurs, fingers reaching out to brush along Felix's hip—a faint, possessive touch. "And after the party…"
He leans in again, lips next to Felix's ear.
"I'm gonna make you *scream."*
Felix's breath catches, his entire body going still. He can already feel the phantom heat of Jake's hands on him, the memory of last night pulsing beneath his skin.
"You're impossible," he whispers, voice trembling with desire.
"And you're *mine,*" Jake replies simply—like it's a fact written in stone. He leans back slightly, eyes dark and full of promise. "Now go get ready, doll. We've got a room full of kings to impress."
Felix clutches the dress tighter against his chest—heart racing—and nods once.
Not just for the crown.
**For him.**
The grand hall glowed under golden chandeliers, music swirling like liquid through the air. Diplomats, royalty from distant lands, and highborn nobles moved in elegant orbits—polite smiles masking sharp eyes.
Then the doors opened.
And silence fell.
Jake stepped in first—tall, imposing in his tailored black uniform adorned with silver insignias. But no one stared at *him.*
All eyes locked on **Felix.**
The dress was even more breathtaking beneath the lights—the velvet deep as midnight, gold filigree catching every flicker of candlelight. The skirt swayed with each step he took, sheer ruffles whispering secrets against his legs. That white collar framed his face like a portrait come to life.
And when Felix lifted his chin—blue bow tie crisp, gloved hands clasped tightly—one noble actually *gulped.*
Jake smirked as they passed by a cluster of stunned ambassadors from the Northern Isles.
"See?" he murmured only for Felix's ears: "**You're already breaking hearts."**
Felix blushed—but held his gaze forward… because now,
the world knew:
He wasn't just beautiful.
**He was claimed.**
Jake's chest puffed with possessive pride as they moved through the sea of elegant guests, Felix on his arm. *His.* The most beautiful man in the room—hell, in the entire goddamn *city.* And every single person here could see it.
They reached the center of the ballroom, and Jake came to a stop, turning Felix to face him without warning. Fingers trailed down his back, settling on the bare skin of his hips.
"How are you holding up?" he murmured, so only Felix would hear.
Felix's breath hitches as Jake touches him—like a spark igniting under his skin. His heart pounds, not from fear this time, but from *power.* He can feel every gaze on them, hear the hushed whispers ripple through the crowd.
But all he sees is Jake.
"I'm… good," he murmurs back, voice trembling slightly. "Better than good."
A slow smile curls on his lips—one that's shy at first, then bolds with confidence.
"They're all staring," he whispers. "But I only care about *you* watching me."
Jake's eyes darken at the words, a growl rumbling low in his throat. There's something primal in the way he stares at Felix, a possessiveness that borders on *animal.* But they're in public—and Jake is still a Prince, so he reigns himself back in.
"Damn right they are," he murmurs, fingers flexing on Felix's hip. "Can you feel it? How they watch every move you make. How they *want* you."
He leans in, voice low and gruff.
"They can look all they want. But at the end of the night, you'll be *mine.*"
Felix shivers at the words, his breath catching in his throat. He tries to nod—to find a witty retort—but all that comes out is a quiet whimper. He's dizzy with desire, every nerve in his body thrumming. He wants to touch Jake, to taste him, to be *claimed* by him—right here, in the middle of the ballroom, in front of all those watching eyes.
The first notes of a waltz fill the air—a slow, elegant melody that seems to match the rhythm of Jake's pulse.
He takes Felix's hand, leading him into the throng of other couples dancing. His grip is firm but gentle—a silent promise he won't let go.
"Follow my lead," he murmurs, mouth close to Felix's ear. "I've got you."
Felix nods, heart racing as he places his free hand on Jake's shoulder. His fingers dig in on instinct, as though trying to anchor himself.
Jake feels the tension in Felix's touch, knows all too well how overwhelmed he is. But he doesn't break stride. Instead, he guides Felix through the dance, slow and simple steps that give them cover to move through the crowd.
"Easy," he whispers, hand tightening on Felix's hip. "Focus on me."
Felix takes a shallow breath, trying to steady the pounding of his heart. He closes his eyes for a moment—focusing on the sound of Jake's voice, the feel of his hands around him, the scent of leather and citrus that makes him think of home.
It helps.
He opens his eyes again, meeting Jake's gaze—dark and intense and *hungry,* even as he moves them in a graceful dance.
"I'm trying," he whispers back.
"Good boy," Jake murmurs, his thumb stroking Felix's hip in small circles. "You're doing so well, doll."
The praise rolls over Felix like a caress, warming him from the inside. He wants to melt into it, to bask in the feeling of being wanted, being *prized,* like a priceless treasure. But he can feel the eyes on them—can see the looks of those watching couples, all the nobles and diplomats trying to decipher their dynamic.
The tempo changes from a slow waltz to something more rhythmic and sensual. Jake grins—he knows this one too well. There's something about a tango that feels just as natural as drawing breath, something that's as familiar as the feel of Felix in his arms.
He spins him out, grip tight on his waist.
"You ready?" he murmurs, eyes darkening with intent.
Felix feels a shiver run through him as he's spun around, his heart racing. His stomach swoops—partly from the motion, mostly from the look in Jake's eyes.
He nods in reply, the words stuck in his throat.
"Good."
Jake moves with effortless grace, guiding Felix through the steps with confidence. His hands are strong and sure, always ready to catch him if he stumbles. And Felix feels *light* in his arms, like he could float away without him.
"Eyes on me," Jake murmurs.
Felix looks up, breath catching as his gaze locks with Jake's. All the noise and glittering lights of the ballroom fade away—there's only the two of them, moving in perfect sync.
Jake's hand tightens on his hip, pulling him closer. There's a spark in his eyes, like fire licking at his edges. And when they turn again, Felix gasps.
*God, he's beautiful.*
He doesn't know how long they dance—time loses all meaning as the music swells.
As the music reaches its climax, Jake's grip becomes almost possessive, holding Felix close and steady as they move in a dizzying blur.
Felix feels like he's flying, every nerve in his body crackling with every point of contact. It's overwhelming and *wonderful*, and he feels alive in a way he never knew he could.
And as the music starts to slow, Jake leans in—mouth close to his ear.
"You're a goddamn dream, doll."
Those words send a shiver down Felix's spine; he feels *wanted,* desired in a way he never has before. With Jake holding him like this, guiding him with a confidence that's almost arrogant…
He feels *wanted,* but more importantly, he feels *safe*. Like a bird coming home after flying too high.
When the music finally ends, the ballroom falls silent—a collective breath held as everyone watches them. Jake doesn't let go; his hand is still a tight, possessive brand on Felix's hip. He simply stands there, breathing hard.
Felix stares back at the crowd, feeling their gazes like a weight. He can practically *feel* the curiosity hanging in the air—the unspoken *who is he? How does a nobody like that have the attention of a* ***Prince?***
Jake squeezes his hip again, a small gesture of reassurance.
And then it breaks, a ripple of hushed murmurs.
"Is that…?"
"Where did he learn to dance?"
"They're so *close*.."
Jake turns his head slowly, eyes scanning the crowd—not with anger, but *warning.* A silent message: **He's mine. Back off.**
One noble from the Eastern Isles dares to step forward, smirking as he lifts a glass. "Your taste in partners is... bold, Prince Jacob."
Jake doesn't blink.
"And your taste in manners," he says coolly, voice cutting through the music like a blade, "*is lacking.*"
The room goes still again.
Felix hides a smile—pressing closer to Jake's side.
Because right now?
He isn't just seen.
**He's feared for belonging to him.**
The noble blinks at the tone, clearly stung. But he recovers quickly, the smirk returning.
"My apologies, your highness," he says smoothly. "I simply meant you could do *better* than common street trash."
Jake's hand snaps up in an instant—faster than thought—his fingers closing around the noble's wrist like iron. The glass shatters to the floor, wine splattering across marble.
"You don't get to speak about him," Jake growls, voice low and lethal. Every inch of his body radiates danger. "You don't get to *breathe* near him."
Felix's breath hitches—he should feel fear at the scene, at the way tension floods the room—but instead, his chest swells.
Because Jake is defending *him.* Fighting for *him.*
And then—
Felix does something unexpected.
He lifts his chin, steps forward beside Jake—and places a gloved hand on top of his clenched fist.
"Don't waste your anger on someone who doesn't matter," he says softly. His voice isn't loud… but it cuts through like light through shadow.
Jake slowly turns to look at him—eyes still blazing—but then softens when he sees it:
**Felix isn't afraid.**
He's proud.
And so damn *sure.*
With one last glare at the noble, Jake lets go—and wraps his arm around Felix's waist instead.
"I only fight for what's mine," he murmurs into Felix's ear.
**"And you? You're everything."**