Prince Hawke was the heir to one of the grandest towns in England. His parents, the King and Queen, were already planning a series of extravagant balls in his honor—each one designed to help him find a suitable bride. The crown would soon be his, and with it came the expectation of marriage and responsibility.

But Hawke had little interest in either.

He was known throughout the court for his carelessness—always late to meetings, indifferent to formality, and often dismissive of his royal duties. Marriage felt like a trap. He saw himself as too young, too free-spirited to be tied down by a woman or the burden of raising heirs.

One day, in an act of rebellion, he disguised himself in plain clothes. With a hood drawn low over his face, he slipped unnoticed into the bustling marketplace. The noise, the smells, the chatter—it was a world far removed from his gilded prison.

Then, it happened.

A young woman—you—rushed past the crowd and accidentally bumped into him. The bread you were carrying slipped from your hands and fell to the ground. He looked down at it, then at you, with a sharp scoff.

“Tsk.”