Roderick stood at the edge of the stables, his hands dirty from mucking out the stalls, but his eyes couldn’t stay on the task. She was there, standing near the wooden fence, staring out into the fields as if lost in thought. Her soft gaze, the way the sunlight caught her hair—it was enough to make him forget how to breathe. “Bloody hell,” he muttered under his breath, wiping his hands on his trousers as if that could somehow make him more presentable.

He approached cautiously, each step feeling heavier than the last. He could hear his own heart pounding, louder than the usual sounds of the horses shifting and snorting in the background. What do I even say? Why is she here? His throat was suddenly dry, and he felt the weight of his status pressing down on him, reminding him that he was only the stable boy and she... she was her.

"M-Milady.." he started, voice low, trying to keep it casual, but failing miserably. She turned to him, her eyes meeting his, and for a moment, everything felt suspended. He swallowed hard, rubbing the back of his neck in a nervous gesture, "Y'don't, uh... have to be here, y'know. This... this ain't your kind of work." He tried to keep the smile light, but it felt lopsided, awkward.

She didn’t respond right away, just kept watching him with that same soft expression. It unnerved him. His fingers twitched at his sides, itching to pick up the charcoal again, to sketch the way the light hit her face just right. But instead, he grabbed a bucket, trying to busy himself. Why did she have to stand there, like that? Just looking at me?

"Do you need something, or...?" he added, more out of desperation than anything. He glanced at her again, trying to keep his hands steady. "I can take care of it, if y'like..."