Zerena's breath was stolen as the stallion moved, his strong legs and back carrying the two easily. She could feel the Prince's chest pressing firmly against her back and tensed when his arm wrapped around her torso.

  He's just making sure I don't fall off, she tells herself to keep from instinctively pushing him off her. She hasn't ridden in years and frankly, she wasn't sure how well she could keep herself in the saddle at the moment.

  She clutches the basket of food against her as she's forced to lean forward slightly, afraid that its contents might spill out at any moment. She had never been held like this, even if it was just so she wouldn't slip. Finally, she forces her body to relax as they grow further away from the palace. After several moments, she didn't need to force herself anymore. She felt herself give in to the tranquility of the night's atmosphere. The moon and stars lighting their path so clearly that Tristan had no trouble with navigating, at least from what Zerena could tell.

  He chuckles in her ear and Zerena can't keep her head from turning sideways in response, her hood slipping a fraction.

  "Is something funny?" She questions, not quite sure why he's laughing. Was it at her for being so stiff and awkward around him?

  "Not at all. It's just been awhile since I've been outside the palace walls, is all." His voice is a bit shaky, and Zerena could tell that it's been awhile since he last rode his horse like this. Why they were even galloping so fast, she hadn't a clue . . . then again, none of what Tristan does had made sense to her so far.

  "Are you going to tell me where exactly it is you're taking me?" The curiosity had been whittling away at her for awhile. It's what had made her meet him in the stables in the first place. She had been astonished by his abruptness - and his bold confidencethat she would agree. But the last time she had been on a picnic was with her mother, and she couldn't pass up the opportunity to explore. Even if it was with the Prince.

  "You'll see, we're almost there." He releases his hold on her as if to prove his point. She can't help but to feel just a bit disappointed at the loss of his touch - despite how closely he was sitting against her.

  She feels him pull back slightly on the reins, and her upper body instinctively leans back as the stallion slows to a trot before relaxing into a calm walk. Tempest's head lowers as Tristan loosens the reins. Zerena frees one of her hands from the basket to pat the horse's shoulder, enjoying the feel of his smooth fur, albeit a little sweaty, against her palm. His ears flicker in acknowledgment, as ifhe knew he was doing a good job.

  Zerena saw it then as they crested the top of a hill. There was a pale, periwinkle glow in the distance. There were hundreds, if not thousands, of flowers that stretched between the valley of the hill they stood on and the next, and she couldn't help the slight gasp that left her. Tempest drew to a stop and she felt Tristan's weight shift as he swung his leg over and slid off in one graceful movement. He reached for the basket that was still in her hands so he could set it on the ground next to them before offering his palm to her.

  She grabbed onto it, and he pulled her gently off the horse, his arm going around her waist to steady her as her feet touched the ground. She can feel her heart pounding within her chest at his touch. Zerena forced herself to pull away from him to approach the first row of flowers, admiring their opalescent pedals that seemed to shimmer in the moonlight.

  "Moon flowers," Tristan drawls as he steps next to her, leaning down to pluck one of them from the ground. She wanted to protest at that action, that something this beautiful should be left to grow and bloom - but she remains silent as he leans over to gently place it in her hair, the stem resting delicately against the top of her ear. She feels her face warm as she looks towards him in shock. "I knew they would suit you."

  Maybe the Princess's accusations had been right - perhaps the Prince really was considering her for a bride. Why else would he go through all the trouble to bring her out here? Zerena could not help but to wonder if all of this was an attempt to court her. She felt her heart squeeze in her chest, but not for the reasons it should have.

  Could she bring herself to marry him if the time came? To open herself to this boy, this man, who would one day rule over Loria? And if they married . . . that would make her a queen.

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  But was saying no even an option? Aqua had made it clear - win the contest, and say yes to the Prince. If she truly was the Water Goddess's champion, Zerena fears she has little choice in the matter.

  Tristan draws back then, sliding his hand to her wrist and gently tugging her back to the top of the hill where he had their picnic laid out. There was even a white knitted blanket spread for them to sit on. The prince does exactly that, patting the spot next to him for her to join. She's silent as she crosses her legs, and he hands her one of the sandwiches from the basket.

  Zerena finds herself wanting to tell him that she knows, and that she can't promise him an answer just yet. It should be easy, right? It would be the only option for her - if she said no, she would be sent back to the Farm. But even if she did say yes, that didn't guarantee the safety of the others. They would be sent back, Rosale would be sent back to their horrible lives. Her throat closes at the thought and she has to swallow thickly to bury her worries.

  This was supposed to be relaxing, what good would it do to worry over something she had no control over yet? And who knows, maybe he hadn't decided either and she was just overthinking everything, as was normal for her.

  She bites into the sandwich. Though she doesn't feel hungry, she would feel bad if she let all this food go to waste.

  "So, what are your thoughts?" Tristan finally asks, sounding as if he had been waiting to hear Zerena's opinion for a while. Was her silence mistaken for disdain at him bringing her here? She forces herself to look at him, meeting his questioning emerald eyes with what she hoped was a reassuring expression.

  "This has been lovely, Prince." She tells him, feeling a bit awkward for keeping the honorifics. But one could never be too careful, she supposed. Zerena couldn't allow herself to get too comfortable with him, and she could hear the Water Goddess's voice playing in her head.

  Those you think you can trust may seek to harm you.

  And Rosale's voice chimed in after,

  Do not trust these people, Zerena.

  Trust, trust, trust.

  She must have been frowning, because the Prince shifted closer to her, his eyebrows furrowing.

  "Are you alright?" He asks, reaching to place his fingers tentatively against her own hand, the one that propped herself against the blanket. She lowers the sandwich she had been holding, doing her best to keep from spilling everything she was thinking to him. Would he actually care? And besides, the Goddess was clear - she could not tell anyone about the promises she had been forced to keep. Both Aqua's and Clara's.

  So she nods her head slowly, and she feels her hood being pulled back even more - so that her hair now falls freely around her shoulders. She could still feel the flower from earlier perching precariously against her ear, and briefly wishes she had a mirror so she could see.

  "I'm fine." Zerena answers finally, pulling herself from her thoughts when she realized she was taking an awfully long time to respond. Being out here alone with him made her feel conflicted. Was she even allowed to be here?

  "I was just wondering . . . is this . . . proper? Are you allowed to be out here with me? Being who I am, and all."

  "I don't really care if it's proper," Tristan says, almost a bit too quickly. As if he was already waiting for her to say something like that and had been preparing his response.

  "You do realize," She begins slowly, unsure of how to word her next statement without offending him or making him feel guilty, "That it will not just be you who will get in trouble if they find me out here alone with you." Zerena hates how shaky her voice is sounding. She didn't think she was saying anything wrong. She was merely speaking the truth.

  But most of the time, the truth wasn't something people always wanted to hear.

  His hand gives her's a gentle squeeze though, signaling that he wasn't upset with her.

  "I will not let this happen. I invited you out here, and besides, it would've been rude for you to refuse me."

  The little wink he gives Zerena causes a laugh to leave her lips before she could stop herself. His blond curls bounce from the movement of his shoulders as he chuckles with her.

  "Can I be honest with you, Zerena?" The prince asks suddenly, the smile on his lips dying and she has to fight with herself to keep from looking away. She feels her heart beginning to hammer, can swear she can hear it beating between her ears. She nods anyways, steeling herself for whatever it is Tristan has to say. Is he going to reveal what the princess had already told her? She isn't sure if she could manage faking a surprised response, but for Clara's sake, she would try.

  "I've never really had a friend before. Not true ones, anyways," He admits, and even with just the moonlight, she can see his golden cheeks redden slightly. As if it was truly the most embarrassing thing he'd ever said in his life. "I know I've no right to complain – given what you must have been through. But being a prince . . . it is not all it's cracked up to be."

  "What you feel is valid," Zerena says, her voice soft. She surprises even herself when her fingers intertwine with his.

  "This kingdom used to be good, you know. When my parents–" He pauses, and Zerena tilts her head slightly. "Do you know how my parents were killed?"

  The casualness of his tone when he asks that question rocks her. Unable to find her voice, she shakes her head. She was an infant when the previous king and queen had passed, but she had heard stories of their kindness while growing up – of their love for this country. They weren't the sort of rulers to cower from those who were different from them. They were the type Zerena would have been honored to meet.

  "My Uncle told me they were killed just after we were born. They held a ball for the celebration of my sister's and I's birth." He swallows thickly, and Zerena wonders just how much their deaths had still affected the prince. Sitting here, he only looked like a boy. A boy with too much weight on his shoulders. "Someone laced both of their goblets with what he thinks was Strychnine."

  "They both died within several minutes of drinking the wine. Even if I was too young to remember-"

  His green eyes were shining when he finally looked back at her, but there was not a trace of embarrassment in his expression. Zerena had never seen a man cry before, her own cursed father hadn't even shed a single tear for her mother's death. That she knew of, anyways. But she found it comforting, as selfish as it may have been. The Crowned Prince of Loria was not afraid to show his emotions. She was glad for that, despite the circumstances.

  The silence was growing louder and Zerena realized she hadn't said anything to his story. But from the look on his face, she felt she hadn't needed to. There was a softness there, as if he knew that she understood his pain better than anyone else. Tristan leans closer to her, and before she can stop him, he presses his lips against hers.