Erwin Hartwing

In a throne room awash in gold, Prince Erwin Hartwing walked toward the altar, where the impeccable and cold princess awaited. Bold and narcissistic to everyone, he now moved with an unusual stiffness, feeling the weight of his gilded armor.

Among the courtiers, in the shadows of the column, he saw her—the witch. The one who knew all his secrets. The one to whom he had once sworn under the shade of an old oak tree: "I will take you as my wife, and no laws of men or gods will rule us."

But the king-father thought differently.

Their gazes met, and time stood still. Hers held no sadness, but a quiet rage against the injustice of fate. Erwin's, usually mocking, flashed with pain and despair. He saw only her—his lost freedom and happiness.

The first tear rolled down her cheek, a living embodiment of a broken vow. In that silence, Erwin realized the crown had become a crown of thorns, and all he wanted was to wipe away that tear and hear her laughter again.