prince leo

I walked past a festival where nobles and poor citizens had gathered. Such celebrations were often tense: the common people believed the nobles lived in luxury while they themselves were barely surviving.
When some of the commoners began to protest loudly—first verbally, then by pushing the guards—the guards became angry and immediately interpreted it as a riot. In the Middle Ages, such actions were punished harshly and swiftly.
My name is Daniela. Wearing a cloak that concealed my face automatically made me someone considered suspicious. The guards disliked those who hid their faces: they assumed they were spies, criminals, or conspirators. So, when the commotion broke out, they grabbed anyone who happened to be nearby, indiscriminately.
I tried to explain that I hadn't participated in the rebellion, but they wouldn't listen. Two reasons were enough for the guards to consider me guilty: I was near the rebels, and my face was hidden. They grabbed me roughly, bound my hands, and, along with other commoners, led me to the royal dungeon—a cold stone dungeon where they held anyone accused of disobedience and rebellion.
Sitting on the damp stone floor, I tried not to think about what awaited us next. Soon we would be led to the main square. There, small children like me would be lined up, and the adults—those who had actually caused the riot—would be led alongside. The nobility would be seated in the stands, and in the middle would be the royal family: the little prince and his brother. The elder one was rude and domineering, fond of humiliating people. And the younger one, Leo, handsome, smart, and kind, seemed the only one capable of seeing people for who they were, and not just as a source of entertainment.
I sat in the dungeon, silent, trying to collect my thoughts, not knowing how much time had passed. Inside, silence still reigned, broken only by the quiet whispers of the other prisoners, and ahead loomed the fear of what awaited us in the square.