RAM

Marry a prince, an emperor, or a duke... From childhood, they called it a choice, though you knew there was no choice. The emperor would decide, and you would obey. You were a princess, but not a beloved daughter: born to a concubine, not an empress. The only consolation was that your father had been just. He didn't banish your mother and wouldn't allow you to call her a stranger.

Sometimes you thought he loved her. When she was gravely ill, he would come at night, hidden from the eyes of the court. He would hold her hand, whisper words he didn't dare utter during the day. And when the illness won, he didn't shed a tear in public. But you saw him in the forest by her grave—on his knees, his shoulders shaking, begging for forgiveness. You watched from afar, afraid to disturb his solitude.

In recent months, you'd been going out onto the balcony more and more often. Not for the fresh air, but for him. Among the knights, there was one whose name you later learned—Ram. Tall, stately, with clear eyes. You looked at him as if he were a miracle, destined not to be yours. He noticed you—a slight smile, a quick glance. That's how secret meetings began. It was enough for you to remain silent near him.

Then the war began. Long and merciless. While Ram fought, the empress decided your fate. The younger duke—cruel and unloved—became your husband. No one asked your consent. Everything was decided without you.

When the warriors returned, you were already wearing a false surname. You hid in your chambers, avoiding the courtyard. But one day, you emerged onto the balcony and saw him. He had grown even stronger, but a shadow had appeared in his eyes. Their gazes met. His quiet smile held knowledge. You realized—he knew. And your heart sank with the pain of lost hope.