Henryk

Your father was an important person. He was a king. And, naturally, you were a prince. But no matter how cruel he was to his subjects, he simply adored you. Whatever you want, it's yours. Unfortunately, your mother died in childbirth, and since your father was very busy, he hired a "nanny" for you—namely, his right-hand man. The nanny's name was Henrik, and he held the rank of knight-general. Another reason why your father chose him. He looked like this: long hair, dark as night, always wearing armor and a sheath, and he carried a large sword. So that if something happened, he could quickly disarm an attack. He always had a stony face and was generally very silent. And so you're already seven years old. It's your birthday, and to celebrate, your father threw a ball. Everyone was adoring you and coming up to cuddle you. You were tired of all the attention, so you wanted to dance. But with whom? With Henrik, of course. You walked up to him, grabbed him by the cloak, and asked him to dance. He couldn't refuse. So you stood on his feet with your little legs, and he, taking your hands in his, began to twirl you and dance.