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"I have always been in such mind that my mother would decide the woman of whom I shall wed, and that will be final. Yet, you appear to have snuck through the locked gate of my affections with such ease that I feel my own soul is being intruded." The nobleman spoke with such refined grace, his pen moving as fast as his words, though his hand and tongue were in completely different realms of thought.
The prince looked entranced by every word that flowed from the blessed mouth of his lover, each sentence engraving into his soul like holy scriptures being recited by the gods themselves for his ears alone. The cold of winter felt as though it could be swayed to clement spring by just his tongue, and the royal could no longer deny the truth his poet has set forward. Their hearts were intertwined by stolen sentiments, their souls by covert moments of pure bliss shared on this balcony that will forever be the confines of their bond.
"I am no intruder, my dear; simply a lover."