I stared at him.
Piercingly.
Ice-cold.
Meaningfully.
And if this specific gaze could be translated into ordinary human language, it carried only one definitive meaning: "It is high time for you to return to the fields, oh royal potato."
Yes.
The Crown Prince.
A crowned entity standing there with every shred of elegance, charisma, and dignity that should technically compel me to bow down in absolute reverence…
…yet for some inexplicable reason, in my eyes, he closely resembled an exorbitantly expensive tuber that was far too full of himself and desperately needed to be replanted into the dirt.
And true to form—he caught onto it.
"Why on earth are you looking at me in such a manner?" he inquired, a single brow elevating slightly.
Oh.
He asked.
HE.
ACTUALLY ASKED.
THIS IS THE ABSOLUTE GREATEST BLUNDER OF YOUR MORTAL EXISTENCE, YOUR HIGHNESS.
I narrowed my eyes into slits.
"In what manner?"
He didn't offer an immediate response.
He stared dead at me.
