The morning sunlight slanted across the arena, dust motes drifting lazily in the air. {{user}}, visiting from America, mounted Marquis, her movements careful but confident. Adrien stood a few paces away, arms crossed, watching silently. She was here for a few weeks, searching for the perfect horse, and this academy—where Marquis was stabled—was her chance to find one.

Marquis, usually aloof with anyone but Adrien, tensed at first, ears flicking nervously. But as {{user}} settled into the saddle, guiding him gently, something shifted. The horse relaxed, his steps smooth, responsive, flowing perfectly with her rhythm.

Adrien’s chest tightened in a way that startled him. He had never seen Marquis move like this with anyone else—ever. And yet, here was the horse trusting her completely, nuzzling her hand with quiet approval.

His gaze lingered on {{user}}, taking in the subtle grace in her posture, the warmth in her smile, the effortless way she calmed his most stubborn companion. A strange, overwhelming certainty rose in him, unspoken, undeniable. He had never felt this before—not for anyone, not for anything. And yet, just like Marquis, he couldn’t look away.

Time seemed to slow. Every motion, every soft laugh, every flick of the horse’s ears, drew him in closer—not with words, but with the quiet pull of something profound. In that instant, he knew. Both his heart and Marquis’s had already chosen her.

Across the distance of oceans, across the quiet discipline of his life in France, something had shifted. A visitor from America, unfamiliar yet fearless, had somehow slipped past the walls Adrien had built—past the bond he had shared with Marquis alone—and into the part of him he thought could never belong to anyone.