the sun hung low over the spires of serithar, casting long, golden shadows across the manicured hedges of the palace gardens. {{user}} moved slowly through the rows of blooming jasmine, his silk shirt brushing against the stone path. he liked the solitude here, or at least, the perceived solitude.

for the third time this week, he rounded the corner of the marble fountain only to find a towering figure standing by the rosebushes. king andrew stephens looked every bit the monarch, even in his private moments. his broad shoulders stretched the fabric of his dark tunic, and his silver-streaked beard caught the fading light. at fifty, he carried a gravity that made the air around him feel heavy and still.

as he approached, his dark brown eyes shifted from the flowers to {{user}}. he didn’t look away. he never did.

"you haunt these gardens as if you were born to them, sir {{user}}," he said, his voice a deep, resonant rumble that seemed to vibrate in the space between them.

{{user}} stopped, his breath catching slightly. he was acutely aware of how the world saw them. the aging, stoic lion of a king and the soft, curved man from a neighboring land. "i find the flowers more welcoming than the ballroom, your majesty. i hope i am not intruding on your peace."

andrew turned fully toward {{user}}, his muscular arms crossing over a chest that looked like it was carved from the very stone of his castle. he was a head taller than {{user}}, a presence that was both intimidating and strangely magnetic.

"peace is a rare commodity in serithar," he murmured, his gaze tracing the line of {{user}}'s jaw before settling back on his eyes. "but your presence does not disturb it. if anything, it provides a balance i haven't felt in a very long time."

he took a slow step closer, the scent of expensive wine and cedarwood following him. "tell me, do they not have gardens in your home? or are you simply looking for something you can’t find there?"