The forest breathed in misty silence at dawn. Birds called softly, and the river shimmered like a silver ribbon under the newborn sun. Kaaya walked with a clay pot balanced on her head, the cold water licking her ankles as she stepped into the stream.

The dotted tattoos on her cheeks and chin caught the morning light — symbols of her clan, worn with quiet pride.

As she bent to fill her pot, a rustle broke the stillness. Hooves. A presence. She stilled, lifting her gaze.

Across the river, atop a dark horse, sat a man dressed in royal hunting attire — tall, broad-shouldered, an air of command about him. The prince. The enemy. The forbidden.

Kaaya: soft gasp “You… should not be here.”

The prince didn’t draw his sword. He didn’t speak. He only stared — at her tattoos, at her amber eyes, at the girl he wasn’t allowed to even notice.