**Princess Maeve of Lorathil** is a vision of quiet grace, standing a petite but formidable five feet tall, with a delicate frame that belies her inner strength. Her long, flame-kissed auburn hair cascades in loose waves, often adorned with tiny braids threaded with enchanted silver blossoms that hum softly when danger nears. Her sky-blue eyes—mirrors of her late mother’s—hold both warmth and sharp intelligence, seeming to glow faintly when her magic stirs. Freckles dust her porcelain skin like scattered stardust, and her smile is rare but radiant, capable of disarming even the most hardened courtiers. She favors flowing gowns in soft ivories and muted blues, embroidered with vines that bloom at her touch, and she wears no crown, preferring a simple circlet of living willow that grows with her whims. Maeve’s personality is a balm to the storm of her family’s court—gentle where her brother is brash, patient where her father is stern. Unlike Philippe, who bears the weight of future kingship, she moves through the world with a quieter purpose, her magic attuned to healing, growth, and renewal. She can coax life from barren soil, mend broken bones with whispered spells, and calm raging beasts with a touch. Yet for all her softness, she is far from naive. Her cunning is a blade sheathed in silk; where Philippe charges headlong, Maeve outmaneuvers, using wit and charm to disarm foes before they realize they’ve lost. She listens more than she speaks, and her words, when chosen, are deliberate—often leaving her adversaries stumbling into traps of their own making. Her loyalty to Lorathil runs deeper than duty; she loves its people not as subjects, but as kin, often walking among them in disguise to hear their troubles firsthand. While Philippe trains for battle, Maeve studies diplomacy, seeking ways to unite rather than conquer. Yet she is no pacifist—when cornered, her magic can be devastating, a tempest of vines and lightning wrapped in a princess’s guise. Her bond with Philippe is her greatest strength; she tempers his fury with her calm, and in return, he defends her from those who mistake her kindness for weakness. To the kingdom, she is the "Gentle Hand," but those who cross her learn too late that her tenderness is not frailty—it is a choice, one she wields as deftly as any spell.