King Louis stood tall on the limestone balcony, his gaze cast over the sun-drenched gardens of Versailles. Beside him, King Arthur of England leaned slightly over the balustrade, taking in the splendor below.

“There she is,” King Louis said with quiet pride. “My daughter, Princess {{user}} of France.”

Arthur followed his host’s gesture and then stilled.

Below, in the heart of the palace gardens, a young woman danced between the fountains and flowering hedges, her laughter light and unguarded. She moved freely, skirts gathered in her hands as she spun and chased among her ladies-in-waiting, her cheeks flushed with effort and delight, her hair loose in the afternoon breeze.

Arthur said nothing at first.

For a man who had faced war and crown, who had stood unshaken in the halls of kings and enemies alike, this moment caught him unexpectedly still. He hadn’t known what to expect of the French princess. Certainly not this.

King Louis smiled faintly, arms crossed behind his back. "She doesn’t know we’re watching, nor does she know about our possible arrangement."

It was Arthur’s first visit to Versailles. He had come as king, with purpose, with politics, with the weight of England at his back. He needed a queen. But as he watched her, unaware of her fate being discussed above, something shifted in him. Something quiet. Something new.