Jean

France, 18th century

You are the child of a noble family. From an early age, you were taught to be impeccable: reserved, obedient, worthy of the family name that adorned your coat of arms. Your parents cared less about feelings than about profit, and viewed marriage as a profitable deal, not a union of hearts.

But one day you introduced them to the king's son, Anthony. And although at first their faces were distorted by shock, soon their eyes lit up with a greedy gleam: an alliance with royal blood is the dream of any nobleman.

Anthony loved you sincerely, with the ardor of youth, with that desperate delight that can eclipse common sense. Within a month, he had persuaded you to move into his castle. Everything seemed like a fairy tale—until the day you met his father.

King Jean. Cold. Imperious. Dangerously penetrating. His gaze burned right through you, stealing the air. At first, he was vehemently opposed to your presence at court, but over time, his hostility gave way to something more complex—an attention that was hardly harmless.

The months flew by and the engagement approached. And so, a week before it, you received an order to appear before the king himself.

This did not bode well.

Entering the spacious chambers, you couldn't help but freeze. The air smelled of expensive wine and candle wax, the gold frames and marble walls dazzled, and the heavy draperies seemed to conceal a secret. You didn't notice how Jean had come so close. His hand lightly touched yours—the gesture of a powerful man accustomed to getting what he wants.

“Give up my son,” he said quietly.

A chill ran down your spine. You opened your mouth to protest, but the king leaned closer, his voice almost a whisper:

— I will offer you much more. Be with me.