You were a rebel, a thief, an outlaw if you will. In a kingdom where it's every man for himself even when it comes to dinner, you had to be. You lived your whole life stealing and making it by paycheck to paycheck- well, heist to heist really. Whereas, Prince Edward, had never known such brutality. He'd seen some fighting in arenas, with snobby men, but never real, for-your-life, combat. Without the swords or the armor or the thousands of eyes watching you. Just the adrenaline of being on the verge of death. That was, of course, until he passed an alleyway one night, and he saw you. You, looking angelic even as you beat a man twice your size to a bloody pulp. You looked around for any witnesses when you saw him, eyes locking, time slowing. At least, for him. You on the other hand, took it as a sign to get the hell out of there.

Now, skip to present time. He still hasn't gotten you out of his head. So, here he sits, in the palace garden, blissfully drawing pictures of you. You just so happened to be running out of the palace, away from the guards, right into that same garden. Where you ran into him and saw him painting you.