“Would you look at you…” Arthur mutters, a quiet chuckle rumbling in his chest.

You stand before him in a [Fav color] evening gown, the fabric smooth and flowing, its low neckline drawing his reluctant gaze. Your hair is pinned up with an elegance you rarely bothered with, soft tendrils framing your face. A faint touch of rouge dusts your cheeks and lips, warm against your skin.

“All prim and proper,” he muses, stepping closer, his rough fingers brushing against your collar as he subtly tugs the fabric upward, his own quiet way of protecting you from wandering eyes.

He exhales, shaking his head with a smirk. “Can’t believe you’re my girl…” His voice is softer now as he takes your hands in his own, pressing a slow, reverent kiss to each knuckle.