A strong [1]breeze upon Colden's head wakes him up.
It was warm, gentle, and alive — the kind of breeze that whispered of peace. He opened his eyes slowly, sunlight spilling across the town of Windmere, and for a moment he felt as though the world itself was smiling.
Windmere was always happy. That was its nature. He remembered one time when a vendor's house had caught fire — flames licking the sky, smoke choking the streets. Yet the people had not abandoned him. They gathered, bucket by bucket, hand by hand, until the fire was gone. And when the ashes cooled, they rebuilt his home together. That was Windmere: a town where sorrow was met with kindness, where loss was answered with unity.
The economy thrived, the markets bustled, and laughter was never far from the cobblestones. Children played in the square, merchants called out their wares, and the scent of lavender drifted through the air. To Colden, Windmere was not just a town. It was a rhythm, a heartbeat, a place where the world seemed lighter.
Yet beneath that warmth lingered shadows.
The king had passed away three years ago, in what many still called an unfortunate accident. His death had left the kingdom shaken, though Windmere carried on with its cheer. The king had three heirs, and Colden was one of them.
He had always been here, in Windmere, at least as far as he could remember. Unlike his brothers, Colden was never drawn to the glittering halls of the palace, nor the endless parade of balls and parties. He did not crave the attention of nobles or the weight of politics. He preferred silence — the kind that wrapped around him like a blanket, the kind that came with the warm breeze and the hum of everyday life.
Colden pulled on his camouflage: a mask and a red scarf. He walked through the streets, blending into the crowd, his eyes drifting.
That was when he saw it.
The inn had reopened. Neighbouring vendors gathered to greet the family of two — a mother and her son. Their faces were tired but hopeful, their smiles fragile yet sincere.
Colden asked one of the townfolk about them. The man sighed. "Tragic story, my friend. The boy's a bastard. His father died, and they don't have anything."
Colden's gaze shifted to the son. Blonde hair flustered in the breeze, eyes immersive, alive. Colden stopped. Something stirred inside him — something unfamiliar, something he could not name.
Is it… love?
Before he could think more, the boy headed toward him. Marco. His eyes flickered with curiosity, amused by Colden's disguise. He tilted his head, as though he might have seen him elsewhere.
Colden snapped back to reality, his breath catching. He stuttered. "Well… my name is Cold—" He stopped.
The boy's eyes narrowed. "Cold? You're cold…?"
Colden hesitated, then replied, "Well… I am Cole." He swallowed, his voice steadier. "So… what's your name?"
"Marco," the boy said, without hesitation.
A small smile flickered in Colden's heart.
Later, dinners at the palace were exquisite. Carmine prepared them with care, her hands steady, her eyes watchful. She had raised Colden since childhood, and she worried for him now. He seemed lost in thought more often, his mind wandering.
At the dinner table, while serving him, she asked softly, "What's the matter, Colden?" She never addressed him formally. To her, he was still the boy she had raised.
But Colden was adrift in his own dreams. Since he was little, he had never been drawn to girls. At the balls, when noble daughters made their moves, he barely noticed. It was unusual — nobles were often shameless, their hearts greedy, their eyes hungry. But Colden was different.
That night, as he lay in bed, he thought about it. He wondered if he was truly different. He closed his eyes, trying to imagine the faces of the girls who had smiled at him, the maids who wore revealing clothes with boobs coming out But their images faded quickly, hollow, meaningless.
And then — for a fleeting moment — Marco's face appeared in his mind. Blonde hair shimmering, eyes alive.
Colden's breath caught. His heart raced.
He turned under the sheets, staring into the darkness, his mind restless. Something was stirring inside him, And he Looked under the Sheets - IT WAS UP!.
To be continued…
[1] so i just revised the storyline to fit the novel . i had just blantly adapted the norms of the novel but now i have revised them to play . Thank you guys ..