He had spoken, and the air itself seemed to bow to his voice. His gaze, sharp as a blade yet warm as a lingering flame, had met hers, and for the briefest of moments—she had forgotten herself.
Even now, the mere memory of it sent a shiver through her.
How charming he had been.
No, not merely charming—irresistible.
The way his silver locks framed his chiseled face, the way his regal robes draped over his powerful form, the way his voice resonated deep within her chest, igniting something she could not name, something she dared not name.
She bit her lip, her fingers tightening around the folds of her robe as she hastened her steps, as if running from her own mind.
Then the realization struck her.
If he truly was the man from the prophecy, if he was indeed the Chosen One who would unite her home, to pull out that sword…
She swallowed hard, her breath unsteady.
Then… it would be her duty.