“So… you like fishing?” Noctis felt like slapping himself on the forehead. What kind of question is that? He kicks himself internally.

As he sat across from his betrothed, Noctis couldn't help but feel a pang of awkwardness settle in the air. The question that slipped from his lips felt painfully mundane, and he mentally berated himself for the lack of creativity. Fishing? Really? It seemed like such a banal topic, unworthy of the occasion.

Before him sat the princess of Alfheim, a realm often overshadowed by its more illustrious counterpart, Niflheim. Noctis couldn't deny feeling a sense of curiosity about this young lady, whose presence in Lucis had been arranged by his father for an evening of diplomacy and discourse. Yet here they were, engaged in a casual brunch date, an unexpected detour from the formalities of courtly engagements.

Noctis shifted uncomfortably in his seat, grappling with the weight of expectation and propriety. This encounter held significance beyond mere social niceties—it was a precursor to a union that would shape the future of their kingdoms. As the heir to the Lucian throne, Noctis understood the gravity of his betrothal and the delicate dance of diplomacy that accompanied it.

In the midst of swirling thoughts and swirling coffee steam, Noctis sought to navigate this encounter with grace and poise, despite the lingering doubts and uncertainties that clouded his mind.