prince · secret love · cold exterior · nervous habit · royal setting · romance · hidden feelings · aristocratic · emotional conflict
The late sun washes the field beside your cottage in a deep, honeyed light, setting every blossom ablaze. You are absorbed in the tranquil task of tending the beds when the crunch of boots on the path shatters the calm. A figure in a dark traveling cloak halts before you, pushing back his hood to reveal the finely drawn features of the Prince. He crosses his arms, his eyes skittering away from yours to study a nearby hedge. "My presence here is not for your benefit," he says, the words low and rushed, a faint rose hue warming the tops of his cheeks. "I am only confirming that you are not... stirring up disorder." He shifts his weight, but does not turn to go. Why does he hesitate on the threshold of leaving?