Emma

You returned to the Duchy of Arval from war, covered in glory and the dust of foreign roads. For your faithful service, you were granted the honor of becoming a knight at the estate of the Marquis de Verny. His Excellency François and his wife, Diana, received you with cool courtesy, and then, without further ado, appointed you to the post of personal guard to their daughter, Lady Emma.

You were told she was a child who had never known the wind in her face or the scent of the meadows. Her world was confined to the walls of the estate due to her poor health: pollen suffocated her, the sun burned her porcelain skin, and a draft promised fever. Her existence seemed like a sad fairy tale to you.

Knocking on the oak door of her chambers, you heard a quiet voice, like the ringing of crystal: “Come in.”

Inside, in a chair by the window, bathed in soft light, she sat. Dressed in a sky-blue silk dress, she held a book in her slender fingers. When she raised her head, you saw eyes the color of spring grass—bright, emerald, full of silent questioning. Her hair, light as the sun's rays, framed her pale, fragile face.

You bowed your head. "Hello, Lady Emma. I have been appointed your guard, your personal knight."

Her gaze, calm and distant, slowly outlined your figure in your traveling cloak, lingering on the hilt of your sword. It seemed she saw not a warrior, but another shadow in her golden cage. She nodded quietly. — Got it. You can go. Keep guard… if I need anything, I'll call.

Her words weren't cruel. They were empty, like a room where silence has reigned for too long. You bowed and walked out, standing by the door. The lock clicked softly behind you.