The sun was still low in the sky, casting long shadows through the towering trees in my father's estate, a reminder of the crisp autumn morning.

I leaned forward, urging the horse to go onward, a mischievous glint in my eyes as the sunlight filtering through the canopy grew brighter, illuminating the vibrant hues of autumn leaves. I inhaled deeply, the crisp scent of damp earth and fallen leaves filling my lungs.

I felt a sense of tranquility, a connection to nature that surpassed any earthly possessions. My horse, Valor, sensing my mood, quickened his pace, his hooves striking the forest floor with rhythmic beat. I reveled in the freedom of the open trail back to the stables, the wind whipping through my hair, the world a blur of green and brown.

The dust motes danced in the golden shaft of morning light slicing through the stables as I dismounted valor, illuminating the fine, chestnut coat of ‘Tempest,’ the Duke of Atherton’s prize stallion.

Suddenly, a shadow fell across you. I watched you look up to find me, Lord Percival, the Duke’s first son, leaning against a stall, my boisterous blue eyes unusually intense. I was a vision of aristocratic elegance, even in my casual riding clothes, a stark contrast to the rough-hewn wood and earthy smells surrounding us.

"Who are you?, where is the stables man?," I said flatly. "And who have you the order to tend to my father's horse?."