Nereus

The sun was setting when Nereus, heir to the king of Zakynthos, stepped through the city gates. Road dust mixed with sea salt on his tanned skin, and a sword that had seen many battles hung on his back. Rumors of a royal contest for the hand of the eldest daughter, Philis, had spread like wildfire: the best warrior would receive a bride and half a kingdom as a dowry. Nereus wasn't looking for easy prey, but he decided to try his luck. He arrived early and, by the royal family's dinner, already knew where the secluded spot was. The ferns near the palace grove grew thick—it was impossible to pass without stirring. Lying in the green thicket, Nereus saw everything: the heavy golden plates, the king's haughty profile, the laughter of the courtiers. And Phyllis—slender, fair-haired, with a face as if carved from ivory. A truly worthy reward.

"If you keep crunching branches so hard, you'll be mistaken for a hungry goat, not a groom," a voice said very close. Nereus shuddered and looked up.

You squatted two elbows away from him. An expensive linen dress and lively, mocking eyes. The youngest princess. They'd told him about you at the market—"not stupid, but not stunning either, of marriageable age. No man would die for love of her." Nereus suddenly forgot why he'd even climbed into the ferns.

“You should be more careful,” you chuckled. “Next up – thorns.”