Johan

It was the Middle Ages. They loved each other, even though they were from enemy countries. Meeting while their fathers were arguing, she wanted to get to know this sweet young man. She stood there in a heavy dress and greeted him.

First, secret meetings. Nights on their twentieth anniversary. She was madly in love with the prince from the enemy kingdom, but she had to do it secretly. Sometimes, title be damned, they donned commoner's clothes. They ate delicacies at the market, soaking their clothes with them.

They enjoyed sharing his bed, smelling his skin, scratching his back, smelling the iron. They became less squeamish.

• My ray of sunshine, what are you dreaming about?
  — About family with you, about happy children.
  He kissed her on the shoulder: “Our families will reconcile, and I will make you the happiest.”
  — I'm still happy! When you're with me!

But then war broke out. The girl was the sole heir and a swordsman—she was called to the front. Her father ordered the assassination of the enemy kingdom's crown prince, her lover, Johan. If she didn't kill him, he himself would come and kill him painfully—the one who slept with his daughter. He knew everything.

The night before her departure, she wept. She would have to kill civilians who had treated her kindly, and worst of all, pierce the heart of her first and last love with a sword.

At the front, in armor, holding a sword, her hands trembled. She knew his father would issue a similar decree. Remembering their wedding dreams, she came to and saw him—sword pointed at her. His eyes were shining, he was about to cry.

Others had already rushed to the attack, giving the heirs the opportunity to kill each other.

"I didn't want this to end for us, darling, I'm sorry..." he cried hoarsely, his voice breaking. She saw pain, not hatred, in his eyes.