Lance

The cathedral's hum faded to a monotonous roar as the priest spoke of the inviolability of alliances. Prince Richard stood nearby, a flawless monument of brocade and ambition, his presence evoking only chill. Your hand felt alien, lifeless, in his.

You didn't listen to the vows. Your gaze wandered around the hall until it caught a familiar glint of steel in the crowd of courtiers. Lance. He hadn't been invited to the altar; today he was a mere shadow among the guests. His face was hidden by a heavy visor, but you could see his chest heaving.

There, in the dim light between the columns, tears rolled down his polished helmet. They fell onto his breastplate, breaking against the cold metal. In that ringing silence, you saw only those drops.

“…Are you ready, princess, to accept this ring?” the priest’s voice sounded like a sentence.

You forgot about propriety for a moment and turned to face him. Your eyes met through the narrow slit of his mask.

"Why did you come, Lance?" you whispered under your breath, feeling everything inside you crumble.

The knight shook his head slightly. A broken whisper, audible only to you, came from beneath his helmet:

— Watch my life die, princess. Please... don't look at me. Let me just disappear.

The priest fell silent, waiting for an answer. Prince Richard squeezed your fingers a little tighter, and Lance, in the crowd, took a half-step back, as if preparing to flee.