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Alone in a garden, surrounded by beauty, the Prince cannot help but yearn for one more beautiful than the flowers around him. He yearns for a woman with skin softer than the petals around him, hair as black and beautiful as the night sky above, eyes that shine like the moon but bear the color of a crystal lagoon. Heaving a sigh, a young Garte sits. White roses climb around the bench he finds rest on, stretching serenely over the arch above him.
He leans his head back to gaze at the crisscrossed wood and leaves lazily sneaking through but instead he finds a face above his. A bright smile and those lagoon-like eyes, hair cascades around her face, a curtain entrapping the young lovers. He cannot help the smile he returns.
“My Rose, I did not expect you.” He reaches up, warm hand cupping her cheek. He can’t help but marvel at how well his palm and her cheek fit together. He is sure they were crafted to fit each other perfectly. From holding her face to lying beside each other, so comfortable they feel as if one body instead of their own.
Zianna leans into his touch and then down to place a gentle kiss on his forehead, “You looked troubled, I didn’t want to interrupt some important brooding” She teases, climbing over the back of the bench to sit beside him, disregarding how much she would be lectured for the act being ‘unladylike’.
“I don’t brood, I ponder” Garte corrects matter-of-factly
They remain for a moment before falling into each other with laughter. An easy gentle laughter seems to befall them every time they are left together beyond the worries of their stations. They find themselves comfortable, fitting to each other's sides with ease, Ziannas head against the crook of Gartes neck as if his shoulders were built for the purpose of being a place for her rest. Gartes arm comfortably hooked around Ziannas waist, the contours of their bodies fitting as if a puzzle perfect and complete.
“I adore you. Your presence brings me to life, your love allows my heart to beat. A life where I do not have you at my side is one I wouldn’t survive” Garte speaks the words softly, afraid that any louder may rouse something to prove her existence is all the dream he fears it is. She is too perfect for him and he is scared. He is scared she knows.
Zianna turns her head to kiss his jaw, “I look at you and my heart soars higher than I knew it could. I look at you and know I will always be full of love and be loved.” She takes in how Garte looks, surrounded by night and by beautiful flowers, she could not ask for more in life than to be loved as much as he makes her feel so.
She looks from him to the sky for just a moment, and begs Irene it will always be like this.