Eleanor studied the man before her. Deep black eyes, yet within them, a strange purple glow flickered like a soft fire. His dark coat stood in stark contrast to the blood-colored snow, his presence commanding yet oddly effortless. But what caught her attention most was his smile, easy, natural. Too natural. Even the princes of the Sylvanhart Empire rarely smiled like that.
Then, without hesitation, he extended a hand toward her.
The gesture was so casual, so out of place, that Eleanor hesitated for the briefest moment. Her golden eyes flicked from his outstretched palm to his face. A handshake.
Among the empire's nobility, such a greeting was nearly unheard of, especially between the royal class. She was the fifth princess of a big empire.
