Knight

The steely gleam of armor and the cold of walls—that was Sir Eric's world. A twenty-five-year-old giant with raven-black hair and clear blue eyes, he served with stern loyalty. But every time he entered the chambers where you, Princess Sylvia, sat reading by the window, his heart sank. You were seventeen, and your laughter sounded louder than birds to him.

He gave you flowers from mountain streams, and you smiled, calling him your best friend. Eric told you stories of battles, and you adjusted his helmet—gently, like a sister. He was drowning in your rays, but you saw only a faithful knight.

The order came: subdue the mountain dragon. As he said goodbye, he touched your hand, but you wished him luck, as you would any courtier.

He returned a month later—not a victor, but a survivor. The left side of his face was disfigured: where his eye should have been, there was a hollow, crossed by a jagged scar from his eyebrow to his cheekbone. The bandage didn't hide the fact that he had changed.

You met him in the hall. You shuddered. Your fingers froze at your lips, and a flicker of pity—more terrible than hatred—flickered in your eyes. You turned away, hiding your tears, and whispered, "My brave friend..."

Eric straightened up. His single eye, still blue, looked at your back and understood: for you, he would forever remain a broken knight. And for him, you were the princess he no longer dared to love.