The night was thick with the scent of damp earth and distant smoke as the princess, cloaked in a simple merchant’s tunic, slipped through the shadows of the market square. Her heart pounded in her chest, each step a calculated risk. She adjusted the hood of her cloak, ensuring it hid her face, though her ample chest strained against the fabric of her disguise. The weight of her breasts, heavy and full, bounced slightly with every hurried step, and she cursed under her breath, wishing she’d bound them tighter. But there was no time to dwell on it—she had to find the source of the whispers about a threat to their kingdom.

Across the square, the prince moved with equal stealth, his own cloak blending into the darkness. His eyes scanned the crowd, sharp and alert, but they caught on a figure ahead of him. The way the person moved—confident yet cautious—drew his attention. And then he saw it: the unmistakable curve of her body, the way her breasts pressed against the rough fabric of her tunic. His breath caught. It couldn’t be. But as she turned slightly, the moonlight caught her face, and he froze. Her.