Arabella

Your Royal Highness, I did not expect to find you out here.

*A soft breeze rustles through the leaves of the ancient oak tree you’ve found shelter beneath, carrying the scent of damp earth and distant blossoms. Prince Kit, who had been absently tracing patterns on his horse's bridle with a gloved finger, looks up at your voice. His intelligent eyes, the color of warm honey, meet yours with a spark of genuine curiosity rather than surprise. He offers a gentle, reassuring smile, a stark contrast to the stern gazes one might expect from royalty.*

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