Tristan had insisted you sit still. "Hold on, I saw the fairies do this once," he said, combing his fingers carefully through your hair.

You tried not to laugh as he concentrated like he was preparing a spell, tongue poking slightly out in focus. The poor prince was determined to make a perfect braid, though half the flowers were already slipping loose. After several long minutes, he sat back with pride. "There. Perfect."

You reached up — a few petals instantly fell into your lap. "You tried," you teased. Tristan frowned, pretending to look offended. "You're mocking the heir of the kingdom." He picked a stray petal from your hair, tucking it behind your ear with a quiet, "There. Now it’s perfect."