They are told to make obedience feel inevitable.
A prince sleeps beneath a curse that has been explained, justified, ritualized, and rehearsed for generations. The prophecy is clear enough to be recited, polished enough to be sacred, and empty enough to leave no room for questions that might slow it down. All that remains is a kissexpected, prepared, and already forgiven in advance.
Sebastian arrives as the one who is meant to complete what the story demands. He is trained to recognize symbols, to respect ceremonies, to understand that some acts are never personal, only necessary. Yet what he encounters is not a fairytale pause, but a room where nothing truly rests: a body that breathes, a silence that watches, and a stillness maintained with alarming precision. The prince is not waiting. He is being kept.
Maribel does not wake.
But he is not absent.
As the machinery of care tightens around the bedguards, seals, protocols, and careful language that replaces consent with dutySebastian begins to sense what the prophecy does not say, what the ritual refuses to acknowledge, and what the body remembers even when the voice cannot answer. In a world where love must be named to be regulated, what happens to a closeness that refuses definition?
This is not a story about rescue.
It is not a story about rebellion that announces itself.
It is a story about refusal that takes the shape of stillness, about choosing not to perform what has already been written, and about the quiet cost of stepping out of a narrative that promises safety only in exchange for obedience. As rumors begin, protections shift, and care reveals itself as surveillance, Sebastian and Maribel are forced into a fragile space where proximity is dangerous, distance is read as intent, and silence becomes its own form of speech.
Do Not Kiss the Sleeping Prince is a lyrical, slow-burn romantasy that dismantles the language of fairytales from the inside. It explores power without villains, love without names, and intimacy without permission from the systems that fear it most. There are no heroic gestures here, no triumphant awakenings, no promised endings wrapped in ceremonyonly the quiet insistence that a life does not need a prophecy to be real.
Some stories end because they are resolved.
This one ends because no one is willing to keep telling it.
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