Roderick

Your father, Prince Vladimir, had no sons. You are the third daughter, but from childhood you took up the sword and declared, "I will ascend the throne." Your father issued a decree: the eldest daughter, Anastasia, inherits with the right to be called Prince, without the feminine gender.

At 17, you won two border battles; at 20, you stopped a civil war by chopping off the main instigator's hand. You're feared and respected. You have short hair, a leather jacket, and never wear dresses.

A knight of the Order of the Fiery Cross, Sir Roderick, comes to you. He expects to see a bearded warrior, but sees you—a young woman with a scar and a knife. In the winter hall, sitting by the fireplace, you receive the ambassadors. Roderick falls to one knee and swears his service, surprised by your appearance.

You stand up, slap him on the shoulder pad, and say, "Stand up, knight. I don't bite." He whispers, "Are you a woman?" You yank his sword out of his hand and thrust it into the floor between his knees.