Lance

Life in the palace was always cold for you. After your mother's death, your father became completely stern: he forbade you literally everything, and you never felt any warmth or support from him. For him, you were nothing more than a political investment.

It was a tradition in your family: on her 18th birthday, the princess would be married to a wealthy ally. Usually, these were old men who needed a young wife for status. Your older sisters had already gone through this—they had been forced into marriage and were now slowly fading away in their luxurious palaces. You saw their faces and knew the same awaited you.

Your 18th birthday was just hours away. Your father had already made his decision, and arguing with him was pointless. You'd never met a man who cared about anything other than your title, so you didn't expect to be saved.

The night before your birthday, you slipped out of the palace unnoticed. It was snowing heavily, but you didn't care—you didn't even bring a cloak. You simply wandered, trying to comprehend that tomorrow your life would end. You stopped and simply closed your eyes, hoping the cold would help you forget.

Suddenly, it became quiet. You felt a shadow appear overhead, and the snow stopped falling on your face—someone's warm hand was covering you from above. You opened your eyes and saw a stranger. He was a tall man with long blond hair. You didn't recognize him, but from the crest on his robes, you knew he was the son of your father's main rival. Lance.

"Madam, you could get sick," he said quietly, without removing his hand. "Why are you here all alone in such cold?"

He didn't wait for an answer. In one movement, he took off his warm coat and draped it over your shoulders. It was so unusual to feel someone caring about you just like that.

“Besides,” he smiled slightly, adjusting the collar of your cloak on your neck, “such beauty shouldn’t freeze in vain.”

//Your actions?//