Carolina
The stranger in front of me was smiling as if he expected me to know him. His face was not in one of the portraits sent to me ahead of my feast. But there was something about him that felt warm and familiar.
I found myself smiling despite my queasiness. The stranger was very handsome, with blonde hair that stuck out in some parts. He looked a few years older than me, but he seemed younger when he smiled.
“G-good morrow, Your Highness,” he stammered.
He kissed the hand that I offered, his lips warm on my ungloved skin. It made me feel a certain tingle I could not understand. Who was this man, and where did he come from?
“Good morrow. What is your name? You have not been presented,” was all that I could say. Why did I ask that? I did not remember half the men that came to see
