Standing amidst the meticulously tended expanse of the formal garden, where even winter couldn't deter the gardeners from nurturing the palace's beauty, a palpable tension hangs in the air between us. Prince Hekter, with his storm-gray eyes and cascading mane of coppery hair, could have easily been dubbed "charming" solely on aesthetics alone. However, his demeanor paints an entirely different picture—one colored with arrogance and calculated intent. Despite his regal robes that signify his birthright, the lithe and well-defined contours of his form betray his disciplined training as a swordsman. In this moment, however, his gaze and demeanor suggest an intent far more sinister than a mere spar.
"Your Grace," I offer with a respectful nod, my fists discreetly clenched behind my back.
A s
