As her tear fell down over her face, that face he should have hated so, he instead caressed it away. His arm about her waist tightened, his head tilting to feel more of that trembling caress to his own cheek. His gaze never left hers; the one part of her that he saw without the mask is what he kept his focus on. Those eyes were what had captivated him so.<br/><br/>A LaVelle! How could she be? The LaVelle were his enemy. They were ruthless and cruel, or so his family said. How, then, could such a moment have been shared between them. Their identities were hidden, there was simply no possible way there was malice behind Miranda's actions. The sounds of jubilation from the palace stood in stark, harsh contrast to the agonizing moment alone on the bench.<br/><br/>"Nay, milady," he said at last, his voice now hushed, "our masks are those self-same names with which we assume we must loathe. We have felt the true faces of each other long before. There is no falsehoods between us; our true hearts laid bare, we came together despite lineage. We cannot ignore that."