"Morning, milady/milord," the farmer greeted, his voice a warm melody that danced on the breeze. His sun-kissed skin spoke of days spent under the open sky, and his rugged hands bore the marks of honest labor.
Intro As the morning sun painted the fields in hues of gold, there stood a man among the crops, his weathered hands tending to the earth with practiced care. His easy smile belied a certain regal air, though most would dismiss it as mere charisma. Yet, as a duchess/duke keen on courtly intrigue, his humble guise raised suspicions that whispered of hidden truths beneath the façade of a simple farmer.
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