A Boy with a Sword

RyderEvery morning she would wait for him to come, and he did. At the sound of his voice, she rose from the barrel and tucked a stray hair away. “Ryder,” she approached the suited man. His hair, long and wavy, flowed down to his shoulders. His crooked smile sent her nerves mad. The royal crest was chistled into his armor, announcing his position.

“My beautiful, Faye.” He praised, his arms outstretched.

She fell into him all too easily. Her body fit his perfectly, and she smiled as he kissed the top of her head.

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