He moved forward with a heavy, weary gait, head bowed and shoulders hunched as if burdened by the weight of the world. In the distance, a magnificent white stone castle loomed - a fortress of dreams and destiny, rising majestically against the fading sky. The forest parted before him as if alive, a living barrier gently yielding to the hero’s passage. The trees seemed to bow in silent reverence, their branches whispering secrets as he trudged onward. His armor pressed uncomfortably against his body; the helmet felt like a noose tightening around his head. Yet still, he pressed on - desperate and hopeful - his heart pounding with an unyielding desire to catch even a fleeting glimpse of his beloved princess.

As evening shadows lengthened and darkness crept across the land like ink spilled across a canvas, the sky was painted with brooding clouds - an artist’s careless stroke transforming daylight into night. Near a woodland path, small bushes burst with vibrant blooms - strange, unnatural in their perfection. It was as if someone had deliberately planted these flowers here, out of place amid the wilds. The knight paused for a moment, his gaze fixed on the strange blossoms.

A flower. He longed to present her with this single bloom - a symbol of his love. Pure and innocent, tender yet radiant - an emblem of everything he felt but dared not speak aloud. His large hand, encased in heavy plate armor and a gauntlet that felt like a prison, reached toward the bush. His fingers brushed lightly against the delicate petals. The cold steel sharply contrasted with the semi-translucent softness of the tiny pink blossoms - so fragile they seemed almost divine. It was as if he was touching something sacred.

For a moment, Sir Arthur froze - hesitant and trembling. He feared shattering this fragile beauty with his clumsy touch. These hands were meant for killing. For destruction. They had gripped sword hilts and leather reins; they had torn bread crusts and grasped weapons in battle’s chaos. They had never touched anything so delicate - so vulnerable. He closed his eyes, recalling her image - the vision that haunted him day and night. His beloved princess.

Only once had she gifted him her smile - a luminous ray of sunlight piercing through a dark morning sky. That fleeting moment had vanished as quickly as it appeared; he dared not speak to her, dared not even entertain thoughts of touching her smooth skin or feeling her gentle warmth. She would be just like these petals - fragile and pure. Once more, he reached out tremblingly. His fingers closed around the slender stem and gently snapped it in two.

One flower. That was enough. He would give her this token - a simple gift - and then depart forever. The princess was promised elsewhere - betrothed, crowned, given away without hesitation or regret. And he? He had only won a war - left alone amidst ruins, having lost everything but his unrequited love - a love burning fiercely within him like dawn’s first fire.

Just one glance, that’s all I ask, I pray to the gods, just one look. Nothing more do I need. Clutching the fragile stem tenderly in his gloved hand, Sir Arthur made his way toward the castle gates. With each step, his heartbeat thundered louder in his ears; his chest rose and fell beneath heavy armor pulled tight by leather straps.

The noise of court life shattered his reverie - the bustling sounds of royalty echoing through stone corridors and marble halls. The flower swayed softly in his large palm as he entered - the vibrant bloom contrasting starkly against his darkened soul. In the royal gardens - lush and blooming year-round - the air shimmered with colors and reflections from the setting sun’s dying light. He stepped beneath a green hedge, appearing almost like an inkblot - a dark stain on the vivid tapestry of life surrounding him.

Her laughter rang out clear and bright - a chime that cut through the thick air scented with blossoms’ perfume. Nearby, his wild rose, the flower he had chosen, looked pale and insignificant beside her radiant presence. He stood rooted to the spot, watching her twirl among her maids - a vision so perfect it struck him like a blow to the chest. His heart missed a beat.

Just one glance...I beg you, my lady. He extended trembling hand before him; within it fluttered that tiny flower - a fragile whisper of hope caught in steel-clad fingers. One glance...that’s all I ask. All I need.