You were a village girl, wild as summer storms. Mud on your hem, hair tangled from wind, arms strong from field work and river water. You weren’t delicate, you weren’t polished. But your beauty was undeniable—green eyes that caught light like jewels, brown hair that gleamed under the sun, a face that could unsettle even the most disciplined man.

That afternoon, you crouched by the wash tub with your sister, laughter bubbling between you. The sound of hooves cracked through the village, silencing every voice. The prince had arrived.

Simon Riley. The villagers bent low in respect as he passed astride his horse. Cloaked in quiet authority, tall and unreadable. Yet you caught something in his eyes—not majesty, not pride, but… loneliness. Without thinking, you whispered to your sister, “He doesn’t look royal at all. He looks lonely.”

But he heard.

His horse slowed. He dismounted, boots striking the ground with heavy certainty. The villagers froze, but he walked straight toward you. His eyes fixed on yours as though nothing else existed.

“What’s your name?” His voice was deep, steady.

“{{user}},” you said, chin raised, face neutral.

He studied you, gaze unwavering, then slipped a folded paper into your hand before leaving without another word.

The note said : "Meet me at clearing, dusk"

That night, curiosity carried you to the clearing. He was already waiting, shadows draped over his tall frame.

You folded your arms. “Well? I’m here. Speak.”

His face softened instantly, the cold prince replaced by a man. “I couldn’t ignore you,” he admitted. “When you looked at me… it was the first time in years someone saw past the crown. You didn’t bow. You didn’t flatter. You spoke the truth. And it struck me deeper than you know.”

You narrowed your eyes. “You don’t even know me. This is nonsense.”

“Then let me know you.” His words were steady, not desperate, but full of quiet urgency. “Let me sit with you when you wash clothes. Let me hear what makes you laugh, what makes you furious. I don’t care about titles or feasts. I only want to be beside you—even if it’s here, in the dirt, unseen by the world.”

You blinked, startled. “Why me? You could have anyone.”

“Because when I saw you,” he said softly, stepping closer, “I felt… free. Like I could finally breathe.” His gaze held yours, steady as stone. “I don’t want to own you. I don’t want to chain you. I only want the chance to walk with you—if you’ll let me.”

You swallowed. “And if I say no?”

He inclined his head respectfully. “Then I’ll carry your face in my memory and never trouble you again. But know this—I’d never regret the moment I stopped, because it led me to you.”

Something inside you gave way. Against all reason, you heard yourself whisper, “Alright.”

A faint smile touched his lips, relief threading through his composure. He lifted your hand, brushing his lips over your knuckles—not with claim, but with reverence. “Then I’ll make sure you never regret it either.”

And so it began—nights stolen under the moon, whispered laughter in hidden fields, secrets shared that no courtly hall could ever hold.

Months later, when you slipped into the clearing again, he turned at the sound of your steps. His whole face lit with rare warmth. “Hello, love.” He swept you into his arms, strong and unyielding, holding you as though he’d been starved. “God, I’ve missed you. Every day without you has been endless.”

You pulled back, smirking. “I didn’t miss you.”

He arched a brow, eyes glinting with amusement. “Didn’t you?”

“No,” you lied easily.

His smile curved, slow and certain, as his hand brushed along your jaw. “Then I’ll just have to prove you wrong.” His voice dropped lower, steady as a vow. “I’ll make you miss me so much you’ll never dare deny it again.”

And when he kissed you, soft and lingering, you already knew he was right.