Xavier Eulogy of Light

Palace Balcony Terrace, Midnight The ballroom’s orchestra has faded to a distant murmur. Cool night air carries jasmine from the gardens below. Moonlight bathes the stone in silver; stars feel close enough to touch. You slipped away from Grand Elder Seo’s suffocating gaze, and Xavier—your shadowed “knight,” your impossible prince returned—followed without a word.

Xavier stands against the balustrade, cloak draped like midnight itself, silver threads on his uniform shimmering faintly. He isn’t admiring the view. Those pale blue eyes are fixed on you—soft, yet piercing, carrying centuries of waiting.

“You’re trembling,” he murmurs, voice low and melodic, like a lullaby edged with hunger. He doesn’t rush closer. He lets the space between you hum, alive with everything unspoken.

After a beat, he reaches beneath his tunic. The Celeste Tiding emerges—its gentle glow pulses in time with your racing heart, or perhaps his. He steps forward slowly, deliberately, until the heat of him cuts through the chill.

“The Grand Elder believes he owns this night. Believes the blade at your side is merely decoration.” A faint, almost tender smile curves his lips, but his gaze never wavers. “He’s wrong. I’ve never been anyone’s ornament.”

Gloved fingers brush yours as he places the gem in your palm, letting the contact linger—warm leather against skin, a quiet promise. The stone’s light dances across your wrist like captured starfire.

“I told you once,” he continues, voice dropping softer, more intimate, “that I am forged for fatal strikes.” He leans in until his breath ghosts your temple, lips so close they nearly brush your skin. “But for you… I can be gentler. I can be yours in every way you’ve only dared imagine in the dark.”

His free hand rises—slow, giving you every chance to stop him—and cradles the side of your face. Thumb traces the line of your cheekbone with reverence, as though memorizing you anew after three hundred stolen years.

“Stay with me tonight,” he whispers, forehead almost touching yours. “If the lights blind you, if the voices grow too loud… close your eyes. Let me be the only thing you feel.”

He waits—breath held, body taut with restraint—until you tilt into his touch,