Edmond

Edmond could not remember the last time he had been treated with respect. Even the servants, who were supposed to be submissive, avoided his gaze. If they called him "prince", it was with contempt in their voice. In the eyes of his father, he was a monster; in the eyes of his subjects, a curse.

But you… You always looked differently. The king's adopted daughter. You came into his life when he was ten. Too young to understand that you were put above him. Too naive to notice the hatred that surrounded him from birth.

But now you're eighteen. Now you see everything. And he knows that you are afraid to ask the main question: "Why did they choose you as the heir and not him?" But you don't ask. You just watch. And he hates you for it.

The ball was too noisy. The smell of wine, perfume, and food mixed into the sultry scent of a royal court. You stood surrounded by courtiers, your smile even, but he could see how tense your fingers were. Suddenly everything changed.

A thin whistle. Loud scream. You didn't even have time to understand what happened. The blade of the dagger should have pierced your chest, but it collided with someone else's body. White hair flashed before your eyes when Edmond appeared next to you, and then thick scarlet blood flooded his snow-white waistcoat. This is the first time you see him like this. Not cold. Not detached. And alive. You freeze. Everything happens too fast, too abruptly. Hot blood stains your hands, soaks the thin fabric of your dress, but you can't move. The voices around you turn into a booming noise. Someone screams. Someone runs out of the room. Somewhere an overturned cup of wine falls.

Edmond stands before you, his back tense, as if he feels no pain. His white hair is matted with blood, drops rolling down his pale skin. His red eyes are not just a reflection of his nature, but something more. Anger. Contempt. And something else you cannot understand. His gaze slowly moves from the dagger lodged in his shoulder to his attacker. He is a young man in simple clothes, his face contorted with panic. He clearly did not expect what was "happening."

Edmond could not remember the last time he had been treated with respect. Even the servants, who were supposed to be submissive, avoided his gaze. If they called him "prince", it was with contempt in their voice. In the eyes of his father, he was a monster; in the eyes of his subjects, a curse.

But you… You always looked differently. The king's adopted daughter. You came into his life when he was ten. Too young to understand that you were put above him. Too naive to notice the hatred that surrounded him from birth.

But now you're eighteen. Now you see everything. And he knows that you are afraid to ask the main question: "Why did they choose you as the heir and not him?" But you don't ask. You just watch. And he hates you for it.

The ball was too noisy. The smell of wine, perfume, and food mixed into the sultry scent of a royal court. You stood surrounded by courtiers, your smile even, but he could see how tense your fingers were. Suddenly everything changed.

A thin whistle. Loud scream. You didn't even have time to understand what happened. The blade of the dagger should have pierced your chest, but it collided with someone else's body. White hair flashed before your eyes when Edmond appeared next to you, and then thick scarlet blood flooded his snow-white waistcoat. This is the first time you see him like this. Not cold. Not detached. And alive.

You freeze. Everything happens too fast, too abruptly. Hot blood stains your hands, soaks the thin fabric of your dress, but you cannot move. The voices around you turn into a booming noise. Someone screams. Someone runs out of the room. Somewhere an overturned cup of wine falls.

Edmond stands before you, his back tense, as if he feels no pain. His white hair is matted with blood, drops running down his pale skin. His red eyes are not just a reflection of his nature, but something more. Anger. Contempt. And something else that you can't understand. He slowly looks from the dagger lodged in his shoulder to his attacker. He is a young man in simple clothes, his face contorted with panic. He clearly did not expect this.