After Niamh's story about William, Elizabeth had a restless night. But she woke up early, feeling completely drained. The princess's words replayed vividly in her mind. She had suspected William's past was difficult, but she couldn't have imagined the tragedy that had befallen him as a boy.

Deep in these thoughts, she strolled down the garden's winding paths near her cosy house. As the sun rose, dewdrops sparkled on the grass like tiny diamonds, and the fresh air was filled with the scent of garden flowers. The first birds had already woken up, reviving the garden with their gentle chirping. And the rest of the world was still asleep, giving her a moment of solitude.

But she couldn't shake William from her mind. A memory of her laughter surfaced, making her bite her lip in shame and regret. The morning's beauty seemed duller, unlike her usual peaceful walks.

Suddenly, she stopped dead in her tracks. Ahead, in the garden pavilion, stood William. With his hands crossed on his chest, he was looking into the distance as if contemplating something.

A strong, unexpected surge of admiration washed over Elizabeth. Since she had learned about his past, this wasn't the William she had once known. She placed a hand on her chest, trying to calm her racing heart, which seemed to have a life of its own. She wondered why it quickened at his presence and when it had started to do so.

This man was unlike anyone she'd ever met—the way he carried himself, the authority that followed him like a shadow. He was a man who had faced the unthinkable, and she sensed the weight of his past in every unspoken word and every decision he made.

A storm raged in his eyes, dark and wild. Yet, in rare moments, she glimpsed something else, something... gentle. It was as though he were fighting a battle within, and she longed to reach out, to grasp the silent war that raged in his mind.

What did he think of her after her silly laughter? She desperately hoped he hadn't taken it personally. Maybe talking to him would clarify the situation.

Elizabeth took a few hesitant steps toward William, her heart pounding. There was something about him that kept people at bay. Perhaps it was better to leave until he noticed her presence, but she steeled herself to move forward. Despite her wobbly legs and racing thoughts, she approached him at last.

"Good morning, sir," she mumbled. Her eyes were wide with anxiety, and her voice sounded so unsure—not as she wanted it to be.

William turned to her, clearly taken aback. "Elizabeth..." Though he was usually composed, now his eyes betrayed his unease. "Good morning."

A weighty silence settled between them. She grappled for the right words, nervously fumbling with her dress. As their eyes met, all the apologies she had prepared slipped from her mind. William watched her patiently, probably noticing her distress.

"I... I wanted to apologise for yesterday. I wasn't laughing at you. It's just... there was so much fun, and I—"

"All is well," he interrupted her gently. "I'm not angry with you." He glanced at her with a hint of surprise, perhaps wondering whether her apology was sincere or just another jest. Her sudden laughter, its meaning unclear, had undoubtedly left him perplexed.

Elizabeth hesitated for a moment, then extended her hand, her lips stretching in a tentative smile. "So, we are friends now?"

A thick silence followed again. William stared at her, not responding to the gesture. Doubt crept into her mind. Was it not customary in William's culture to shake hands? Or was it improper, perhaps reserved only for men, with women denied such an interaction?

"We can shake hands?" Her voice wavered with uncertainty.

After a brief pause, William cautiously took her hand, a hint of a smile on his face. His hand was warm, its texture rough against her soft skin. In that instant, her hand felt so small and fragile in his grasp, and the sudden vulnerability made her pulse quicken.

They stood in silence, eyes locked. His face, less weary now, gave him a youthful appearance. It was now clear she had misjudged his age. He was likely in his early thirties, or perhaps even younger.

William's expression softened, revealing the beauty of his eyes. Her gaze fell to his straight, noble nose and then settled on his beautifully sculpted lips, which seemed tender and inviting in contrast to the dark stubble surrounding them.

As Elizabeth realised they were still holding hands and she was staring at his lips, her cheeks flushed. At that moment, a surge of heat from his hand seemed to pass into hers, spreading through her veins and igniting a pulsating desire that overshadowed all other sensations.

The image of William's naked body in the lake suddenly flashed in her mind, and her face reddened even more. It was wildly inappropriate! She shouldn't harbour such desires for him. It was wrong.

She couldn't shake the feeling that he was reading her dirty thoughts about him, and at that moment, she wanted to vanish into the ground, consumed by shame. How silly of her to have even approached him. 

In a rush of self-consciousness, Elizabeth withdrew her hand, turned, and hurried away, leaving William to wonder about her sudden departure.

Once inside her house, she took a deep breath and leaned against the door, her thoughts racing. She scolded herself for running away like that. What must he think of her now? That she was weird?

As she walked through the silent house, her thoughts turned to William's handsomeness. The memory of his warm, rough hand in hers still lingered, making her cheeks flush again. She couldn't help but remember his deep blue eyes, framed by dark eyelashes, his strong nose, and the enticing curve of his lips.

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