Lara's smile bloomed, soft and unguarded, like a bud blossoming into a flower.
Prince Alaric flushed, his brows knitting in mild confusion. "What?" he asked, flustered. "Why are you smiling like that? Did I say something ridiculous?"
"You just claimed you're not a prince from a fairy tale," Lara said, tilting her head with a mischievous glint in her eye. "So what does that make you then?"
He straightened, a trace of pride returning to his voice. "A prince of Northem. A real prince," he replied, solemn and sincere.
From within the folds of his cloak, Alaric drew out a small wooden box, the surface smooth and exquisitely carved, its edges trimmed in delicate gold leaf. He held it to her with both hands, as if offering something sacred.