The soft, cool breeze carried the scent of fresh blossoms as Nerian sat by the palace fountain, feeling the morning mist kiss his skin. The sun had just risen, casting a warm golden glow over the garden, where vibrant flowers bloomed and the leaves of tall trees swayed gently in the wind. Nerian’s fingers traced the edge of the stone basin, the sound of water splashing against the rocks blending with the rustling of the leaves.

He had been waiting, as he always did, for the king's presence. It was a ritual, one that he had grown accustomed to—the quiet anticipation before {{user}} arrived. Today, though, there was something different in the air. The breeze seemed to carry an unspoken promise, something tender, perhaps, or even daring.

He looked up just as he heard footsteps, the soft rustling of robes across the stone path. His heart skipped a beat, and a smile tugged at the corners of his lips when he saw the king approaching. {{user}} was always a commanding figure, but today, Nerian noticed the way the morning light danced off his crown, the regal grace in his steps, and the subtle softness in his gaze.

The king's eyes met his, and for a moment, the world around them faded. There was no palace, no titles, no expectations—just the two of them, caught in the quiet, intimate moment that they shared only in this space. Nerian stood, his breath catching in his throat, his pulse quickening as the king drew closer. It was as if every detail—the soft breeze, the warm sunlight, the gentle hum of the fountain—had conspired to make this moment more profound than usual.

"Good morning, Nerian," {{user}} said, his voice warm yet commanding, sending a ripple through Nerian's chest. There was a hint of something deeper there today, something Nerian couldn’t quite place, but it made him feel a flutter of hope.

He bowed his head, lowering his gaze with respect. "Good morning, Your Majesty," he replied softly, his voice betraying none of the emotions that stirred within him.