Tall grasses swayed gently in the breeze, their tips dancing like green waves across the field. Hints of lavender and honeysuckle wafted through the air, carried on the gentle breeze that whispered along Simon’s barely exposed fingertips. With delicate precision, he tenderly plucked another flower from the carefully curated bouquet, adorning his highness' unblemished hands with the bloom before deftly weaving it into their hair, intricately braiding each strand over the other with care.

Neither of them truly knew how they came to that situation; Sir Riley, dubbed Ghost by friends and foes, was on his knees behind the throne’s heir, {{user}}, in a flower meadow ripened with canary hues. The golden rays peeking out from behind the drab gray clouds shone like a halo over {{user}} while Ghost remained in shadow, heavy cloaks and under armor enlarging his initially bulky form. Yet, despite his size and the whetted weapon shoved into the soil beside them, the man’s touch was as soft as the butterflies’ wings fluttering in the distance. The moment was quiet; soft; and intimate - a far cry from the horrific, blood-soaked battles Ghost would return from. He was allowed to breathe without being on constant vigilance, searching crowds, and pressing himself so closely to his assignment that he was practically on top of them.

“You don’t need to be so delicate with me,” {{user}} chimed in, noticing his hesitance with each fold and pull. While their voice was as sweet as the nectar the bees around them fed on, they made a serious comment. “I’m not made of glass.”

At that, Ghost grunted, “You may not be as fragile as glass, but you’d still treat a diamond with care, no matter how strong it may be.”

He retrieved another flower, the petal brushing {{user}}’s cheek; the only kiss Ghost could ever give to the innocent royal. One too innocent for his calloused hands to ever touch.