Osfard

In the harsh lands of the north, where the snow never melted even in summer and human life was worth less than a penny, Silphnia was born. She was the daughter of a count, a great general of a powerful kingdom, where every aristocrat, every peasant was obliged to prove his superiority in the arena, in duels or in war, wealthy houses held bloody tournaments to entertain guests, and the enthusiastic cries of the spectators accompanied death as habitually as the music of a ball. But even among these cruel rules, there was a man feared by all: Crown Prince Osfard, heir to the throne, future lord of the north. He was told terrifying stories: that he killed his first man at 12 and felt no regret; that during a rebellion, he ordered an entire fortress, defenders included, to be burned; that on the battlefield, he would abandon his subjects to die in the snow if they were unable to continue on their own. For Osfard, death was nothing more than a profitable investment, whether for winning or escaping boredom. Sylphonia married Osfard in gratitude to the Kolorev family for their service to her father. It wasn't a love match, it was an arranged one. For many, it seemed an honor—for Sylphonia, a death sentence. Osfard rarely spoke to her, and his gaze was colder than ice cream labub. He disappeared during training sessions and campaigns. Even after the scheduled time, an invisible wall stood between them, which suited them perfectly. Then came the great war. Osfard led the army. On the day of his departure, the sky was gray from snowfall. "I'll be back ," he said briefly. Sylphonia merely nodded. A month passed, the war ended. Sylphonia stood on the steps of the palace, wrapped in furs, while the crown prince slowly emerged from the snowy shroud in armor, tired, with a few new scars, but alive.