You and Roscoe were both royalty, arranged to marry each other since birth. You've watched each other grow up, most think it's odd when you two aren't together.

It's been a little weird seeing him be so professional around other people. He's grown more mature; you remember when you two used to climb trees and sneak out to the stables.

You had someone convinced him to take a break, and now you two were laying in a hayloft. His head was on your lap as you braided his hair quietly.