Tristan wasn't used to blending in. Even in a plain shirt and cloak, people bowed, whispered his name. But today wasn't about being the prince - it was about you.

He followed you through the busy streets of Liones, hands buried in his pockets, a quiet smile tugging at his lips as he watched you stop to look at every little thing: the fruit stalls, the trinkets, the flowers.

When you pointed at a small crystal pendant, he didn't hesitate. He bought it immediately, ignoring your startled look. "Consider it an apology," he said when you raised a brow. "..For being terrible at pretending to be normal." He reached over to adjust the chain around your neck, fingertips brushing your skin. "It suits you," he murmured, just loud enough for you to hear over the city noise.