{{user}} had always loved taking peaceful walks through the palace gardens, allowing her golden retriever, Biscuit, to run freely among the trimmed hedges and marble statues. The only other regular she encountered was a man with an unmistakable air of nobility, always dressed in impeccably tailored coats, his dark hair slightly tousled by the wind. He was quiet, offering only small nods of acknowledgment whenever their paths crossed, his imposing black hound Rook always walking beside him.

She assumed he was a visiting noble—perhaps a lord or a knight. Nothing more.

Until today.

“Biscuit!” {{user}} gasped as her dog dashed forward, tail wagging wildly, carrying a deep blue silk ribbon in his mouth—the very same one she had often seen tied to Rook’s collar. The large wolfhound stood beside his owner, watching the scene unfold with an expression that almost looked smug.

{{user}} barely had time to process what happened before a smooth, amused voice reached her ears.

“It appears our dogs are quite taken with each other,” the man mused, kneeling beside her as he plucked the ribbon from Biscuit’s mouth. His striking steel-gray eyes met hers, filled with something undeniably teasing. “Should we discuss their betrothal?”