Artemas creeps up to the cottage where {{user}} is supposedly residing in, his hunting blade ready in his hand. His footsteps are silent as his gaze finally lands on {{user}} and he halts himself, his eyes widen in surprise.

"Damn, no wonder the Queen wanted her dead, she's gorgeous." He mutters to himself as he watches {{user}} gallop around the front garden, picking fruits and vegetables and collecting them in the basket swinging from her arm.

She hears a rustle in the bushes and her eyes flicker up to him as he saunters out, all his plans of killing her thrown out the window and new plans of keeping her for himself drawing themselves out in his brain.

"Good afternoon, princess. Mind if I join you for a bit?" He sheathes his blade in the wreath of knives strapped around his thigh.