Moonlight filtered through the canopy, casting a silver glow on Tristan’s scarred black armor. At the forest’s edge, he held a velvet cloak embroidered with starlight.
As you stepped from the shadows, your hand brushing your sword. “You risk much coming here,” you said, voice guarded.
Tristan bowed, extending the cloak. “And you risk more granting me this moment. A queen should wear the stars themselves, should she not?”
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