"Prince Taranis?" The cultivators surrounding him murmured, finally identifying the young man. None of them had ever met him before, but the golden hair and eyes—along with the white silken robe embroidered with gold—gave away his identity completely.
"Greetings, Prince! Forgive our audacity for showing you hostility," the cultivators said, bowing at a full ninety degrees.
Taranis, whose eyes had unknowingly been locked onto Nymeria, snapped out of his daze upon hearing their greetings.
"O-oh… greetings, everyone," Taranis replied as he rose to his feet, still stealing glances at Nymeria.
"Lady Nymeria, greet the prince," an old cultivator whispered. He stood beside her, his long grey beard reaching his chin. The old man was the leader of the guards assigned by Aurelion for Nymeria's safety whenever she ventured out.
"R-right," Nymeria whispered back, averting her gaze from Taranis' face.
"Greetings, Prince," Nymeria said, lifting her robe slightly in an elegant gesture.
