AN:
A flashback chapter!
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Never in a million years does the crowned Princess of Hampshire imagine she'd spend the entirety of her twenty-sixth birthday dancing with overinflated egos disguised as men, all in the name of hunting for a husband.

The ballroom swells with every eligible bachelor from the kingdom and beyond. Her dance partners have been insufferable bores so far, not a single one sparking even the smallest flicker of interest, and she's barely had a moment to breathe. Dance after dance, pointless chatter after pointless chatter, all while her stomach rumbles, and her heels cut into her skin like razor blades.

Ravenna's heart beats a frantic rhythm as her eyes lock onto a familiar pair of steel blue ones across the room.

Dream stands within the crowd, watching her every move, every breath, his gaze as sharp as a knife. He doesn't need to say it-she can feel his jealousy, his simmering anger, rolling off him like a storm.

Serves him right, she thinks. He's the one who refused her marriage proposal.

For once, Dream doesn't dare approach her, keeping his distance but not failing to regard her with hawk-like intensity.

"Am I that boring?"

Her current partner, Prince Henrik, the second in line to the throne of his kingdom, draws her back to the present.

"I'm sorry?" She blinks, trying to refocus.

"You keep looking over my shoulder. Either there's something fascinating happening behind me, or my analysis of the palace's architecture isn't as captivating as I'd hoped."

A flush warms her cheeks. "That was terribly rude of me. My apologies."

"No apologies necessary, Princess." Henrik smiles warmly, his eyes crinkling at the corners. "I admit, I could have picked a better conversation topic. When I'm nervous, I tend to spout all kinds of useless facts."

Ravenna laughs, trying to ignore the heat of Dream's stare on her back. "There are worse ways to deal with nerves, I suppose."

She forces herself to focus on Henrik. He's been the most enjoyable dance partner of the night: charming, funny, handsome, a perfect candidate for a prince consort. She likes him well enough, but there is no fire, no spark.

"It seems our time has come to an end," Henrik says as the music fades. "But perhaps we can see each other again, as friends?"

She glances at him, puzzled. "Huh?"

Henrik groans at her expression. "Oh, come on, don't give me that look. I can tell your heart is elsewhere."

"And how would you know that?"

"Because I'm in a similar situation. She's a maid, and I'm a prince, stuck searching for a pure-blooded bride because of some outdated, messed-up law."

"Then we'll definitely have to meet again to discuss how ridiculous this marriage law is," Ravenna suggests, and he grins.

"Until we meet again." Henrik lifts her hand to his lips, winks, and disappears into the crowd.

Ravenna chuckles at his antics, but soon she's back on high alert, preparing to deliver her closing speech. After thanking the guests and watching them filter out, she hurries from the ballroom, eager to escape before a certain Endless corners her. She knows she can't avoid him forever, but she's starving, and that, at least, takes precedence over his wrath.

After finally having a perfect dinner, Ravenna makes her way back to her chambers. She's now in a simple white gown, ready to end this exhausting day with some much-needed sleep. But her hope vanishes the moment she notices a shadow leaning against the wall in the dimly lit hallway.

"You seemed to enjoy your time with Prince Henrik," Dream murmurs, his voice cold enough to raise goosebumps on her arms.

Ravenna sighs, pulling off her lace gloves with deliberate slowness. "I am expected to choose a husband before the crowning ceremony, and he is a prince. Besides, isn't he quite a handsome bachelor?"

"Do you wish to marry him?"

"I have yet to decide."

His gaze narrows, sharp and penetrating. "What is there to decide, my love?"

Frustration flares in her chest, hot and unrelenting. "If you refuse to marry me, then let me find someone else!"

"I see," he says, his voice infuriatingly calm, but she can feel the tension vibrating off him. There's nothing neutral in the way he stands, taut as a bowstring, a volcano on the verge of eruption. "Then I shall leave you to the handsome prince."

"Perhaps you're right," she retorts, her voice sharp. "There is a rumor that Prince Henrik never fails to please a woman in his bed. I'm eager to discover the truth myself tonight."

Two seconds later, she's pinned against the wall, her gloves hitting the floor. His body presses against hers, an unyielding force, and all she knows is falling, tumbling into an abyss she never wants to escape.

His eyes flicker like molten silver, shadows of a storm brewing beneath the surface. "I dare you to repeat that," he growls, voice low and dangerous. "You are mine, just as I am yours. When have I not made that clear?"

Ravenna provoked him on purpose, but she shivers at the raw possessiveness radiating from him. She tries to push back, her voice a strained whisper. "Let. Go. Of. Me."

"Never." His lips brush against her neck, trailing soft, lingering kisses down her skin.

"Stop acting like a spoiled child!" she snaps, struggling against him, but he doesn't budge.

"I love you," he breathes against her skin, his touch sliding down her neck, over her bare shoulder. She shivers again, her skin tingling under his fingers.

"Stop trying to seduce me. It's not working-" she manages, her breath shallow, until his hand cups her breast, squeezing gently, and she gasps, startled. "Morpheus!"

His lips curl into a smirk. "That is my name, my love."

She rolls her eyes, though he sees the faint grin she fights to hide, her anger dissipating like mist in the wind. "Years of brooding, and suddenly you've discovered sarcasm?"

"I blame your influence entirely."

"Me?" she scoffs. "You're one to talk about being a bad influence."

He chuckles, placing a hand over his heart in mock offense. "I am deeply wounded, my love."

"I don't care." Her glare returns. "I should go now. Prince Henrik must be waiting for me."

He knows the risk he's taking if he marries his mortal lover without a plan to save her from a fate like Nada's or worse. But he cannot bear the thought of losing her. Instead of kissing her lips, he kisses the hollow of her throat, hoping to distract her from thoughts of the blonde prince.

Ravenna closes her eyes, biting back a moan as he drags his mouth up her neck, inch by inch, before sinking his teeth into the soft curve between her neck and shoulder. Hard. Almost as hard as the arousal pressing against her stomach, making her core throb with need.

His hand clamps over her mouth, stifling her surprised yelp. "Quiet, or someone will hear."

"Am I interrupting something?"

Dream's body tenses. Ravenna's breath catches in her throat as she registers the voice. She turns to see her half-brother, Oliver Duncan, standing at the end of the hall, wearing a curious expression.

"I was on my way to my chambers when I heard something," Oliver drawls, his gaze flicking between them. "Apologies if I... intruded."

Ravenna curses herself for being so careless. They are in a secluded hallway, but there are always eyes and ears everywhere in the palace. She should have known better than to engage with Dream where anyone could stumble upon them.

Dream, of course, doesn't seem to care. "Indeed, you seem not to have learned to mind your own business, Prince Oliver Duncan."

Ravenna shoots Dream a reproachful look and turns to her brother with a forced smile. "I apologize on his behalf."

"I need to speak with you about your crowning ceremony," Oliver says quietly, his eyes never leaving Dream. "It's highly confidential."

"Right now?"

"Yes," he insists.

Ravenna looks at Dream. "I wish to speak to my brother now. Alone."

Dream's expression softens slightly, but his eyes are still hard. "I will see you soon, my love." He kisses her forehead before casting a final, sharp glare at Oliver and vanishing into the shadows.

"You know the royal marriage law," Oliver begins in a low voice. "You're the crowned Princess. You have to marry someone of pure blood or royalty. Who is that man? I don't recall him being on the guest list."

"He's more than royalty," she replies, defiant. "He's Dream of the Endless."

Oliver's face hardens. "That's even worse, Ravenna. Have you heard what he did to Princess Nada? He destroys everything he touches."

"I love him," she says, her voice steady. "He's the one I want, not any of those pure-bloods I danced with tonight."

Oliver sighs, recognizing the resolve in her eyes. He knows he won't change her mind. "Just be careful," he warns, his concern evident.

Ravenna nods. "Until I sort things out between us, you cannot tell anyone about this, Promise me."

"I promise, sister," he says, smiling.

"Thank you," she murmurs, pressing a quick kiss to his cheek before bidding him goodnight. She turns away, eager to retreat to her chambers, the weight of the evening still heavy on her shoulders.

But what she doesn't see is the shadow that crosses Oliver's face, the dark glint in his eyes, the sadistic twist of his lips as she disappears down the corridor. He has waited years for this - patiently, quietly, biding his time. Now, he has discovered her weakness, the key to dismantling her hold on the crown, and he intends to use it, no matter the cost. Not even the Lord of Dreams and Nightmares will stand in his way.