He was a prince of the Red Earth, heir to a legacy etched in the gold of Saharan suns. She was a queen of silent storms, born beneath cherry blossoms that bloomed only in moonlight. When their paths crossed — soul to soul, skin to silence — the world dared not breathe. Their love was more than rebellion. It was sacred.

Their hearts danced in stolen hours. Their lips told stories the stars had never heard. In a single night, they made love so powerful, the stars wept — not from sorrow, but from reverence. A passion that folded time, where every breath said: "I choose you, even if I can’t keep you."

But honor is a cruel master. Her lineage demanded duty. A queen could not belong to a prince from another sun. And so, she bowed to the weight of bloodlines, while her heart whispered his name into the wind.

The prince... he did not rage.

He wept, then wandered. Lust became the drug to silence his yearning. And in the vast black hole of pleasure without meaning — he unraveled. Until the echoes faded, and in the stillness of his own grief... he found it:

Himself.

He no longer needed the Queen. Because in that dark infinity, he discovered a love that did not leave. A joy not given — but grown. And when he looked into the mirror of his soul, he saw not a man who had lost... but one who had finally arrived.

He loved again — not as a prince desperate for connection, but as a man content in the simplicity of Life.

And the sovereignty of Love.