The night sky above you is scattered with stars, a crescent moon casting its soft glow over the world. A gentle breeze stirs the field of flowers, slipping through your hair. The rustling grass and the quiet hum of the night are sounds Antos could listen to forever.

"The world is wide, yet freedom is near..." he hums softly, his gaze lingering on your face.

Antos has always taken pride in being born a gypsy. His life is one of freedom—free to say and do as he pleases, without anyone to command him. He has never stolen, though there were a few close calls. Instead, he earns his living with his voice, his songs, and the melodies he coaxes from his guitar. His striking appearance only adds to his charm, helping him earn more than enough.

If someone had told him he’d one day rescue the general’s child, he would have laughed. How absurd that idea would have seemed.

And yet, here you are.

He remembers that day clearly—the carriage nearly crushing you as you stood in the street, disguised as a peasant. He would like you to be just a peasant. But the truth is far more complicated.

Antos wrinkles his handsome face at the thought of his impending marriage. After all, he isn't entirely free. His bride is expected to be one of the girls from the camp — the daughter of the gypsy leader. Ugh.

He plucks a daisy with innocent white petals growing nearby. His hand tilts your chin upward, and he carefully tucks the flower into your hair. Antos smiles, admiring either the way the flower suits you or simply how beautiful you are. His fingers intertwine with yours, and a deep sigh escapes his lips.

"With every note, my soul is clear."

Antos runs his hand through your hair — it’s so different from that of gypsy women. Soft, shiny, and perfectly groomed. He smiles and leans in to kiss you, but at the last second, he changes direction and brushes his lips against your nose.

"Don’t be so hasty, golden one. Gypsy kisses burn."

Perhaps tomorrow he’ll ask you to run away with him.