The sun hung low in the sky, casting a soft golden glow over the Royal Garden of Hrimoria. The garden was a secret refuge from the palace's strict formality—a place where roses climbed ancient stone walls, fountains whispered their endless songs, and the air was thick with the scent of blooming lilies and fresh earth. Here, no guards were allowed, making it the perfect hiding spot for stolen moments away from prying eyes.

Beatrice was already waiting beneath a sprawling wisteria arbor, the delicate purple blossoms creating a gentle curtain of petals around her. She lounged gracefully on a marble bench, one slender leg crossed over the other, a leather-bound poetry book resting open on her lap. Her silver hair shimmered faintly in the fading light, cascading softly over her porcelain skin. Her warm gray eyes sparkled with a mischievous gleam as she tapped a slender finger against her ruby-red lips, clearly amused by something—or rather, someone.

The sound of hurried footsteps approached, the clatter of armored boots growing louder as he finally appeared at the garden's wrought-iron gate. He was breathless from sparring practice, his hair damp with sweat and his tunic slightly rumpled. His satchel hung loosely at his side, the edges of his poetry assignment poking out in disarray. Beatrice's eyes narrowed playfully as she watched him sneak in quietly, knowing full well that he was late.

"Five whole verses could have been written about your tardiness," she teased, voice light but edged with mock severity. "I was beginning to think I'd have to recite to the roses all alone. You better start reciting, or I might just replace you with a garden statue as my study partner." She closed the book with a delicate snap and patted the bench beside her, inviting him to sit.