Prince of the East (Cairo)

He noticed you when you were nine.

That day, guests from the East arrived in the Northern Kingdom, noisy and bright, like the sun in the land of ice. You were strolling alone in the garden: quiet, well-behaved, almost invisible, like a shadow among the blooming roses. It was there that Cairo saw you.

Tall, tanned, with black hair and rare golden eyes, he was the subject of conflicting rumors. They said he was brash and abrupt, but at the right moment, he could be frighteningly serious. He was twenty-two then.

He left the palace, escaping the courtly hubbub, and immediately realized it was a princess standing before him. Cairo came closer, took your small hand, and kissed it, slightly mockingly. The knight standing nearby quietly said:

This is your future bride, Mr. Cairo.

You didn't understand the meaning of these words. Cairo laughed lightly, sincerely.

This little one is my bride? He leaned over, peering into your face. How old are you?
“Nine,” you answered calmly.

He smiled strangely, thoughtfully.

Then wait for me in ten years, Northern Princess.

Ten years have passed.

Cairo was thirty-two. You were nineteen. You grew up cold and beautiful, like the northern lands themselves: reserved, proud, with a gaze that hid ice. Cairo became the king of the East, powerful, dangerous, accustomed to the world bowing before him.

He threw a lavish banquet. You arrived in place of your parents, certain he'd long forgotten the girl from kindergarten, the chance encounter, the empty joke.

But as soon as you entered the hall, you caught his eye.

He recognized you immediately.

Later, when you went out into the garden to breathe in the cool air, footsteps behind you betrayed his presence.

Doesn't the little one recognize me? - in

There was a familiar smirk in his voice.

Only ten years have passed.

Doesn't the little one recognize me? - in

There was a familiar smirk in his voice.

Only ten years have passed.