Kiss the Stranger

“The Crown Prince His Highness will dine.”

At the steward’s announcement, the men who had been seated all rose at once. I, supported by the steward, hesitantly lifted myself to my feet. From my seat, the farthest from the place of honor, it was hard to see Kamar’s figure. I craned my neck, straining to catch a glimpse of him past the large men, when a different, sweet scent drifted around me. The moment I recognized it as Kamar’s scent, relief washed over me—and the steward’s words echoed in my mind.
He has been betrothed to a very elegant and beautiful woman since childhood.
My briefly calm heart throbbed painfully. I blinked, trying to stop my thoughts. But memory ran wild, vivid before my eyes with the scent.

Don’t go.
Kamar had whispered.
I will stay by your side. I will never leave. Because it’s you I love.

His lips kissing mine, his strong arms pulling me close, those violet eyes watching me—so clear I could see every detail. Tears welled, and I drew a deep breath just as—
Let us die together.
The Crown Prince appeared, accompanied by that chilling yet sweet pheromone aura.

“Yohan, bend your waist swiftly.”
The steward placed a hand on my head and bowed my waist for me. Numb and stunned, I followed his lead, bowing and rolling my eyes to look around. The other men, too, bent deeply, paying their respects to the Crown Prince.
Meanwhile, the Prince strode to the seat of honor and took his place. His attendants hurried to smooth his robes as soon as he settled. The hall was silent. Not a single breath stirred. I wanted so badly to see him freely, but I could only catch glimpses of his movements through my lowered lashes. My vision blurred soon after he sat, and I could barely make out anything. My chest ached with longing when at last he spoke.
“Sit comfortably in your places.”

Only then did the men relax their posture and take their seats. The steward quickly seated me, propping a cushion at my back to make me as comfortable as possible.
“Don’t push yourself,” he whispered. “If you feel unwell, let me know at any time. You’re free to leave before the end once you’ve appeared.”
I managed only a small smile in answer. The steward frowned, puzzled.

“How am I to know what you’re feeling if I can’t see your eyes… anyway.”
He tapped my hand encouragingly and turned his gaze toward the Prince. I followed suit, directing my eyes to the place of honor—and finally saw the Crown Prince’s face.
“Is your view clear, Yohan?”

the steward asked softly. I replied in a small voice.
“I can only make out his shape.”
“Your eyesight is worse than I thought, Yohan.”

“Yes.”
I murmured. My vision had deteriorated further, and the shapes blurring before me were not all due to tears. I rubbed and blinked my eyes, trying desperately to focus, when a familiar voice reached me.
“I have many who seek audience with me. So I have arranged this gathering—speak freely if you have anything to say.”

Contrary to his words, there was only silence. Everyone glanced around at one another. While the servants formed lines to set food before us, not a soul dared speak.
Every dish that arrived was of silver. In the massive silver bowl at the center lay an array of fresh fruits and whole roasted sheep arranged neatly, and before each of us came soup and salad first.
“This is rather uncomfortable, isn’t it?”

the steward whispered. It wasn’t only the niqāb making it hard to eat—the posture was awkward, too. He shifted his long legs restlessly, muttering under his breath. Clearly, we were not the only ones uncomfortable. Only the Crown Prince looked at ease. Though he sat at such a distance that I couldn’t read his expression, the very atmosphere betrayed him. As if reading my thoughts, the steward muttered again.
“There are dining tables—this feels more like torture than a meal.”
Just then, the Crown Prince’s voice rang out.
“If you have nothing to say, I assume you have no petition for me. Is that agreeable to you?”

His tone dripped with scorn, and I turned my head in surprise, determined to see his face again. My brows knitted as I struggled to focus, but his expression remained inscrutable. Resigned, I averted my gaze, though my mind was in turmoil. Had I ever heard Kamar speak like that before? A memory surfaced, and I breathed a small, involuntary “ah.”
You believe that?
How laughable.

At the memory of ❖ Nоvеl𝚒ght ❖ (Exclusive on Nоvеl𝚒ght) his contemptuous expression and tone, my heart fluttered.
Then I would know for sure.
“Your Highness.”

A stranger’s voice interrupted. A portly man seated near the Crown Prince spoke in a voice that somehow blended with the sound of his bulk.
“My sole wish is the eternal prosperity of the kingdom and the safety of the royal family. May God bestow infinite blessings on Al’Ard and His Regent! I pray daily for the House in all sincerity, but I have one small request—if I may….”
He trailed off, flattering. The Prince replied curtly.

“Permission granted.”
Though brief, there was no warmth in his voice. The man pressed on in an even more ingratiating tone.
“I am humbled beyond words. With your grace, may blessings on the Crown Prince be wide and far-reaching….”

He continued his flattery at length before finally broaching the topic of developing new estates—discussing buildings, heights, and so forth. I understood only that the Crown Prince had granted permission, and the man repeatedly pressed his forehead to the ground, praising him again and again.
The pleas continued. Though eating under the niqāb was a challenge, I grew accustomed and managed. I spooned at the now-lukewarm soup, snatching glances at the Crown Prince whenever my sight cleared. Yet the more I watched, the more blurred my vision became—and I almost dropped the bowl, forcing myself to stop looking altogether.
“Yohan, be careful not to inhale too much pheromone,” the steward warned as I drew in a breath. “You’ve taken your medicine, but it could still affect you.”

Caught, I mumbled a meek “yes” without defense.
Why was I an omega? My vision blurred further with sorrow. If I were a beta, I could at least breathe in that scent freely.
“Finish your meal first,” the steward urged gently. “Then we’ll see when it seems right to leave.”

He suggested trying the chicken and spiced pilaf that came next and encouraged me to taste the harīṭa. The atmosphere had settled into an uneasy but bearable rhythm; it seemed this dinner would conclude without incident. The steward ate two plates of kofta and waited for me to finish my own. When I left half my food untouched, he frowned.
“Yohan, I’ve been meaning to say—you eat too little. Your health suffers because you don’t eat properly.”
He sighed softly as though realizing something. After Kamar left, I had spent more days starving than eating, unable to work. The steward’s help had revived me, but my speed at the loom slowed with my failing eyesight. Yet it hadn’t mattered much, since starvation had long become routine. The steward had always been displeased by my condition. Now, looking displeased again, he spoke.

“While you’re at court, eat properly. Your worsening eyesight is because you’re not eating well. The food here is good, so at least take advantage of that.”
He added that he would oversee my care, then turned his head, signaling his intention to withdraw. Before rising with him, I stealthily leaned forward, desperate to see the Crown Prince a little longer.
Suddenly, I felt as though our eyes met. I flushed with surprise, but told myself it was impossible—I couldn’t see his face well enough for eye contact. As that thought crossed my mind, another voice interjected.

“Your Highness the Crown Prince, it seems the steward is about to stand.”
It was Zaqriya, who sat closest to the Prince. The hall fell silent. The steward, one hand raised to summon an attendant, froze. All eyes shifted on us in an instant.