[It's natural, really, how the princess lets the knight into her personal space – how she relinquishes her hand to him and watches with stars in her eyes as he treats her fingers like something precious. This, too, is how things are supposed to be, though she's less sure of why this time around. For a moment, she simply looks upon him, taking in the curves and angles of his face, the way he holds his body, the timbre of his voice, the perfect imperfections of how he wears his hair.

Then she perks up a bit. She smiles more broadly.]

I remember you. You're the one who vowed to show me the moon from... what was it? Ah, yes, a place where I could look out into the horizon and see naught but its glow. Take me there now; that shall be my first command.

[A pause, somewhat sheepish, and then:]

Should that suit you, of course.

[He may be in service to her, as knights often are to their princesses, but she will not hold him in servitude. The very thought repulses her.]