"I am Prince Aleksander of Perrault," he murmured, speaking as though they were not allowed to speak to each other. On the contrary, he knew he could do whatever he pleased, but somehow the thought of the others butting into the conversation unnerved him. He knew in his gut that he was correct, that the girl situated in front of him--against him--on the horse was Princess Catriona of Aronia, the girl he was supposed to marry, the girl that went missing years ago and was presumed dead. Yet he knew that the others doubted the claim, and he did not feel like arguing the validity of his proof. Not now. Not while he was still trying to wrap his own mind around the concept. "I am not mistaken," he hissed, his declaration absolute. "That birthmark on your shoulder is proof, as is the necklace. No two people could bare both unique markers; you [i]are[/i] the princess." And a grown woman at that, unable to help but feel the shape of her body against him as she shifted to the horse's gait. It didn't help that he held his arms around her in order to hold the reigns. It was a struggle to keep his mind off of such things. "How do you not remember anything? Not where you've been all these years and how you came here? What [i]do[/i] you know, besides your name and age?"