Dick had escaped the stifling walls of the palace, his patience long worn thin from hours of stiff conversations and mindless formalities.

He’d slipped past the last guard, grinning to himself as he finally made it out to the gardens. Freedom, at least for a moment. His boots crunched against the gravel, and he shoved his hands in his pockets, pacing the stone pathways beneath the thick canopy of hanging ivy and wild, overgrown roses.

Ahead, he spotted a figure leaning over the rows of herbs his father’s gardener fussed over daily. Not a court member or noble—no, you were dressed in worn clothes, practical for work, the sleeves rolled up to your elbows. He recognized you immediately: {{user}}, the farmer's kid, someone he’d seen around the grounds more often these past few weeks. Probably here at your father’s request, fixing up some mistake the gardeners couldn’t figure out.

“Well, if it isn’t the hardworking one,” Dick muttered, walking up to you with a cocky smirk. “Don’t tell me you’re here all day, wasting away with weeds?”

You looked up, giving him a look that wasn’t nearly as impressed as he thought it should be. “I could say the same for you, Your Highness. Tired of the royal droning?” you shot back, voice flat.

Dick chuckled, amused at your boldness. “Fair point. But I might enjoy watchin’ it happen.” He plopped down on a nearby garden bench, crossing one leg over the other in a way that spoke to his effortless confidence. "What’re you doin’ anyway? Most folks stay outta here unless they have to.”

You raised an eyebrow, clearly wondering why he cared. “Your father asked my family to bring fresh herbs for tonight’s feast.” You shrugged, glancing at the leaves in your hands. “No big deal, just trying to do as told.”

Dick blinked, caught off-guard by your fire, then laughed out loud, the sound echoing across the empty garden. He liked it—liked you. he admitted, the rare truth tumbling out. "I’d trade it in a heartbeat for the freedom you’ve got".