"Your hands are a bit rough. Are you the guard I befriended earlier? Is this really you, Mr. Carlos?" I playfully teased, attempting to inject some light-heartedness into the atmosphere. I was keenly aware of the princess standing just behind me, her presence lending an air of formality that contrasted sharply with my jest. It never failed to amuse me to see the flicker of surprise and indignation on her face when I took the opportunity to poke fun at her. This was our little game, a cherished ritual that allowed us to weave humor into the often suffocating and heavy atmosphere of court life.
“Oh, what are you saying? My hands are not rough!” The princess exclaimed, her voice laced with mock indignation as she indignantly pulled her hand away from my playful grasp, a gesture that was both
