Thorn

You stand before the altar, your white dress hanging on you as if it belonged to someone else. The hall is crowded with people, but everything sounds muffled, as if coming from underwater. Prince Henry, your fiancé, stands nearby. Alien. Neutral. Correct.

You were never like this. As a child, you had almost no friends—the court girls seemed identical, boring, and too obedient. You quickly grew tired of their games, and the only person who stood out from this crowd was Thorn.

The servant's son. Two years older. Bold, straightforward, with a kind of mature tenacity rarely found even in knights. He feared neither you, nor your father's status, nor the looks of others. If someone offended you, Thorn would intervene first, without a second thought. And this wasn't a chivalrous gesture—it was simply how he lived. He was used to defending those weaker than himself, even if it meant he suffered the consequences later.

You felt calm with him. And interested. You grew up side by side, and gradually everything became too obvious. Your quiet meetings in the garden, long conversations, his rare but genuine smile… You fell in love early. But one day, your father announced your wedding. The decision had already been made. You must marry the prince. This is a matter of the kingdom, not your feelings.

And here it is - the wedding day. Ceremony. People. Voices. And the complete feeling that all this is not happening to you.

You're barely listening to the priest when your gaze accidentally catches sight of the line of knights. And there he is.

Thorn stands in armor, taller and more sturdy than you remembered. His face is hard, closed, like a true warrior's. But his eyes... they betray everything he's trying to hide. There were tears in them.

He looks straight at you. With pain.

In his right hand he holds a small talisman - the same one that you once thrust into his palm when he stood up for you and was walking around with a black eye himself. He never threw it away. And today he couldn't either.

The priest breaks the silence: — Do you agree, Your Majesty, to marry Prince Henry?