Noam Russo

You are the heir to the throne of the United Kingdom. Your family has raised you to be perfect and sophisticated. But within the high, thick walls of the castle, you met Noam. A poor boy raised to be your right-hand man and your reason for laughter—yes, he was your jester. As the years passed, you grew up and were searching for a husband, but to be honest, you didn't seem excited or show any interest in any of the hundreds of princes presented to you. You were talking to one of them—well, he was talking to you. You found nothing interesting in what he was saying, and your gaze lazily scanned the hall filled with nobles until you spotted Noam leaning against one of the columns, arms crossed. From his expression, it seemed he had been watching you for a long time. Your heart stopped for a second when you saw him. He smiled at you, that smile that enveloped you. His teeth bit his lower lip in a discreet gesture, and you felt your cheeks burn.