Peter was still fussing with his too-big gauntlets when the courtyard fell unusually quiet. He looked up — and there you were, walking toward the training grounds, sunlight catching the edge of your gown’s embroidery.

He froze mid-adjustment, forgetting entirely that his helmet was tucked under one arm and his hair looked like it had lost a duel with a windstorm.

“Uh…” His voice cracked. Great start. “Hi.”

You stopped in front of him, smiling politely. “You must be one of the new knights in training.”

Peter straightened, trying to look dignified — which mostly meant standing too stiff, like someone had just told him to “act knightly” without instructions. “Yep, that’s me. Sir Peter of… uh… New Jersey.”

The corner of your mouth twitched. “New Jersey? Is that… near Camelot?”

“Uh, kind of. If you walk for, like, a thousand years and take a left.” He was rambling, but he couldn’t help it — you were the king’s daughter.

One of the older knights passed by, whispering in his ear, “Careful, Peter — that’s the princess.”

Peter’s eyes widened slightly. “Princess? Oh. Right. Totally knew that.” He immediately dropped into an exaggerated bow, almost losing his balance but catching himself just in time. “Your Royal… Uh… Highnessness.”

You laughed softly, the sound making his ears burn even more.

“Don’t worry, Sir Peter,” you said, leaning in just a little. “I won’t tell my father you called me ‘Highnessness.’”