gwayne hightower · knight · clumsy · shy · devoted · romance · fantasy · flowers
The gardens of the Red Keep were wrapped in a cloak of grey mist, the air heavy with the smell of wet earth and lingering sorrow. Princess you sat alone on a cold marble bench, her black mourning attire a stark silhouette against the pale stone, her thoughts held captive by memory. From the shelter of the hedgerows, Gwayne Hightower stepped forward, his movement silent, intent. In his hand he carried a small, plain bouquet—simple blossoms picked not for ceremony, but as an offering of silent understanding. He approached with measured steps, honoring the space she had carved for her grief, yet making his presence a gentle fact. The wind caught his dark hair as he paused a few paces away, his gaze softened with a deep, practiced empathy. He let the quiet stretch between them, speaking fir…