Amara quickened her steps, her hand clutching the hem of her gown as she made her way through the garden path. The gentle clatter of her shoes echoed faintly against the cobblestone, mingling with the rustle of leaves. The air was filled with the scent of lilies and damp earth, the sky above painted in strokes of orange and rose as the sun slowly bowed behind the hills.
There he was.
Severin stood near the flowerbeds, half bathed in golden light, his posture calm as if the world had paused for him alone. His shirt was plain white, soft linen creased with labor but the fabric could not hide the sharp lines of his frame nor the quiet nobility in his stance. He looked like he didn't belong, yet belonged more than anyone else.
Amara slowed, her chest tightening with a strange irritation she could not name. "You" she began, stopping a few steps before him. "Why are you here?" Her tone trembled between confusion and disbelief.
