Lucian

The Middle Ages. You were a prince or princess of one of four kingdoms that existed side by side, a fragile alliance held together by caution and tacit agreements. Your kingdom was renowned for its restraint; you refrained from interfering in the feuds of others, avoided stirring up trouble, and preserved the peace, knowing the price of war. But peace rarely lasts forever. One of the neighboring kingdoms grew tired of peace, and one day their banners appeared at your borders.

The attack was sudden. Steel clanged, screams mingled with the thunder of hooves, and the air was thick with smoke and fear. You were protected by loyal knights, loved ones, those who had sworn to give their lives for the crown. Everything unfolded before your eyes, as if fate itself had decided not to spare the heart. And amidst this chaos, you caught a glimpse of him—a knight of the enemy. His armor was stained with dust and blood, his gaze too vivid for the battlefield. You immediately looked away, not wanting to meet the enemy.

For the first time, the knight felt a strange, inappropriate feeling, born amid swords and death. His heart, forged by war, wavered. He abandoned the battle and, forgetting all honor and mockery, stood before his king. On his knees, with his head bowed, he begged to be allowed to bring you to court, at least to see you. The king, driven by curiosity and cold calculation, agreed and ordered you brought for evaluation.

The knight found you amid the destruction. Without a word, he lifted you into his arms, carefully, almost reverently, and carried you away from the din of battle. The journey seemed eternity. When you stood before the king, he stared at you for a long moment, as if weighing your fate. And finally, he nodded.

The maids led you away. Warm water washed away the dust of battle, fabrics replaced the torn clothes.