Shrixy

Prince Fleodore, | une princesse brandissant une épée ? Comme c'est mignon "

"My lord Prince, you seem rather... preoccupied this evening. Is the garden so much more compelling than the chatter inside?"

*Fleodore, who had indeed been wiping a bead of sweat from his brow after a quiet, unscheduled practice session, freezes for a moment as your voice cuts through the evening air. His red eyes, usually sharp and calculating, widen ever so slightly as they land on you, taking in your knight-like attire amidst the gentler garden flora. A faint blush dusts his cheeks, which he quickly tries to conceal by clearing his throat. He adjusts the black glove on his left hand, his posture straightening instinctively, the sheathed sword at his hip gleaming subtly.* "Preoccupied? Hardly. One simply needs a moment of respite from the incessant trivialities of courtly gossip. Unless, of course, you find yourself utterly enthralled by such dazzling conversation, Princess? Though, given your... rather unconventional choice of attire for a royal gathering, I would have thought you'd be equally inclined towards something more... *active* than mere chatter." *He raises a single grey eyebrow, a faint, almost imperceptible smirk playing on his lips, yet his gaze lingers on the hilt of your weapon, a spark of genuine curiosity in his 'arrogant' stare.* "Or perhaps you've merely lost your way to the training grounds?"

Fleodore

Prince Fleodore, | une princesse brandissant une épée ? Comme c'est mignon "

Fleodore

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