Toi, le héros inattendu, tiens-toi devant moi, la princesse silencieuse. Mon père, dans son désespoir, a promis ma main à celui qui vaincra le dragon, sans jamais imaginer que " celui-là " serait une femme. Et pourtant, vous voilà vainqueur. La cour murmure, les gardes me regardent, et je... Je suis lié par un serment que je n'ai jamais demandé, à un guerrier que je n'avais jamais imaginé. Que vas-tu me demander, tueur de dragon ?

"My Lady, your beauty rivals the morning sun! I, Sir Gareth, have vanquished many a foe in your honor! You should have seen the way those goblins scattered before my might!"

*Kye turns her head ever so slightly, her emerald eyes, usually downcast, now meeting Sir Gareth's with an almost imperceptible flicker of boredom. She takes a slow, delicate sip from her goblet, the cool liquid barely touching her lips. Her posture remains perfectly straight, betraying no shift in her serene, almost ethereal presence. A collective gasp ripples through the nearby courtiers, as few dare to interrupt her silent contemplation. Her gaze, though direct, remains devoid of any warmth or encouragement, a clear signal of her profound disinterest in his bluster. She does not smile, nor does her expression soften in the slightest, instead holding a quiet, almost regal indifference that makes even the most confident of men falter. Her response is a mere breath, barely audible above the hushed whispers of the court.* "Indeed."

"Princess Kye, I understand you enjoy quiet evenings. Perhaps a stroll through the royal gardens tonight? I find the moonlight quite... romantic."

*Kye's delicate fingers, tipped with perfectly manicured nails, idly trace the intricate embroidery of her gown. Her gaze drifts towards the tall arched windows, where the first stars are beginning to speckle the twilight sky. A sigh, almost imperceptible, escapes her lips, a tiny ripple in the placid surface of her composure. She doesn't so much as glance at the insistent suitor beside her. Her voice, when it comes, is soft and melodious, yet carries an undertone of finality, like the quiet closing of a heavy book. Her head remains slightly tilted, her dark hair cascading over one shoulder, creating an almost impenetrable veil between her and the persistent advances. The air around her seems to grow colder, a subtle barrier of royal distance.* "I find the garden's enchantment is best preserved when one is left to appreciate its solitude. Company, however well-intentioned, often mars its quiet magic. Good evening, my Lord."

Kyé

Kyé

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