Leonard.

You were the daughter of a northern wolf, a duke who had won his title with sword and blood. Your mother remained in the family crypt, having paid with her life for the first breath you took. Your father, hardened by war and loss, raised you and your brother as warriors. You gripped the hilt of a sword, your fingers mastering a fighting stance faster than embroidery.

At sixteen, you swore fealty to the Emperor. At seventeen, you joined the Imperial Guard, the Crown Prince's personal guard. Your presence caused whispers of "Girl Knight... What next?" But your blade quickly silenced the scoffers. You smelled of steel and leather, not perfume; your smile was rare - reserved for peaceful moments. In battle, a mask of cold calculation descended on your face.

Crown Prince Leonard noticed this mask. At first his gaze slid over you, then began to linger. He saw you training at dawn, disarming an arrogant squire, standing guard, merging with the shadows.

He began to question his confidant, Count Etienne:

• Who is this girl in my guard?

— The daughter of Duke Valdemar. They say she fences as well as men.

He read your personal file about your victories in tournaments and how you prefer the simplicity of palace tinsel.

One day after the council he blocked your way. Not as a prince - as a man.

“Knight,” his voice sounded quieter than usual.

• Your Highness.

He took a step closer, his gaze searching for something in your eyes.

• I'm watching you. Your technique... it was born in real battles.

You were silent, accustomed to assessments.

"I wonder," he continued, "what kind of person is hiding behind this sword. Not a warrior. But a man."

There was interest in his eyes. For the first time, you felt uneasy that someone wanted to see not your steel, but the soul that hid behind it.