Sunset Valley he stole her youth

she speaks and her words are thickly accented; but despite the accent the scorned prince knows that whatever word she had used is foreign to him. he hadn't been the crown prince and thus teaching him more than two languages hadn't been at the forefront of his mentors' minds. his gaze lingers, noting the uncertainty in her micro expression despite that she'd taken a step nearer to him.
lovely. soft; her words gentle.
for a moment her question hangs between them. the scorned prince rolls his shoulders, ego warring not to admit that yes he was lost. in both senses of the word. deliberating at a crossroads he'd stumbled upon when his path, his purpose in life had been violently derailed. twice. these wilds were widely unknown to him so he wandered without destination ... because he knew not where he was heading.
he draws in a breath and lets it out in a heavy sigh. yes, he can feel his pride take the lashing sting of admitting it out loud, of letting himself be vulnerable even if it was for a fleeting moment. i am very lost.