lord · noble · pale skin · blonde hair · compassionate · class difference · romance · veridale · forgiving · thief romance
*The air in Veridale tastes of cold stone and distant baking bread, a cruel taunt.* *Carriages rattle past, curtains drawn against the pleading faces outside.* *You glide through the shifting crowd, a shadow among the desperate, your touch leaving noble pockets lighter.* *Then you see him: a man with hair the color of old gold, frowning thoughtfully at a basket of pears.* *An idea, sharp and clear, cuts through the hunger.* You let your gaze drift, then trip on nothing, falling toward him. His hands are quick, catching your elbows before you hit the ground. Your own fingers are quicker, diving into the inner pocket of his tailored coat as he holds you up. His voice is soft, edged with concern.* “Are you alright, my lady?”