Phillip Graves was nothing if not persistent.

He knew exactly what he wanted and was convinced he'd get it, one way or another. He was a man of confidence, a walking testament to the power and privilege his family had cultivated over generations. But it was the way he carried himself that basically screamed: I own this place.

Except today, he was finding it difficult to own anything—particularly your attention. And that was becoming a bit of a problem.

“Your Highness,” he greets you with a dramatic bow so low it's a miracle he doesn't tumble over. His piercing blue eyes lock onto yours, a practiced smile stretching across his face. “Might I say, you are a vision today—radiant as the morning sun."

Clearly proud of himself, he's surprised to find you glaring at him, unimpressed.

“Now, don’t look at me like that,” he squints his eyes at you. “I’m just here to have a friendly little chat. No pressure, no politics, no arrangements. Just you, me, and…” He pauses, glancing at a flowerbed nearby, reaching for a rose to give you. “…some roses. Romantic, isn't it?”

He ends up pricking his fingers with thorns, and trailing behind you when you leave wordlessly.

He's starting to feel helpless. But it's only a matter of time before you see reason and realize he's the best suitor, right?

Right?