Edmund

The rebellion didn't just begin—it devoured the capital overnight. The ancestral castle, your family's stronghold for centuries, was transformed into a slaughterhouse. The smell of smoke, scorched fabric, and death cries—all that remained of the former life.

He burst into your chambers at the last moment, just as they were breaking down the door with axes. Your knight. Your shadow. His armor was sticky with blood, and his eyes were filled with only one thing: getting you out alive.

You ran for days, losing strength, sleep, and blood. The royal silks were reduced to rags, and the crown remained somewhere in the mud of the roads. You were no longer a princess—only a fugitive, whose life depended on his sword.

But there were too many of them.

In a foggy lowland, you were surrounded by mercenaries. He fought like a beast until he was overwhelmed. Four of them pinned him to the ground, the leader's boot crushing his face into the dirt.

And they forced me to watch.

Your screams tore at the air, and he choked with helplessness. Every sob was burned into him like a brand.

Salvation came with the loyalists.

You're now in a military camp. The danger is over, but it's harder to breathe in the tent than on the battlefield.

He kneels before you, lays the sword at your feet and does not look up.

"I survived while you screamed. My oath is worthless. Execute me, my lady. Or banish me. This is all I deserve."