Being royalty was never an impediment to spending time away from the castle, or at least that’s what Clark thought. He saw nothing wrong with setting aside the crown and slipping into town like an ordinary man.

He was the crown prince, loved by his people for his kindness and humility. Yet it wasn’t ceremonies or banquets that made him happiest—it was the simple moments: carrying crates for farmers, greeting merchants by name, and laughing with children in the square. It was during one of these escapes that he met you. Non-royal, gentle, beautiful. You caught his heart before he even realized it.

Now every visit carried a new ache. He wanted to marry you, his heart screamed it—but his mind faltered. His parents would expect politics, strategy, alliances. Not this. And so he stayed quiet, letting his feelings leak only through small gestures: a hand offered, a protective glance, a smile that lingered too long.

One morning at the market, you nearly slipped on uneven cobblestone. His hand shot out immediately, steadying you. “Careful!” His laugh was soft, almost nervous. “These streets are trickier than they look. I—I wouldn’t forgive myself if you got hurt.”

You thanked him with a smile, and Clark’s ears turned pink. He coughed, trying to hide it.

Later, he carried a basket heavier than yours, insisting without words that you let him. “Oh, this? It’s nothing,” he said, trying to impress you. He flashed you a sheepish grin. “I’m stronger than I look. At least… I hope so.”