Dezh

You are the daughter of a border guard commander, a simple "fortress girl" tolerated at court only out of respect for her father. Prince Dej is the heir to the throne, whose smile is considered the kingdom's treasure.

It all started three years ago at the Northern Outpost. Dezh arrived to inspect the garrison, and you were tending to a wounded hawk. Not recognizing him in his traveling cloak, you muttered, "Move away, you're blocking the light." He later admitted he'd fallen in love with that tone—both commanding and indifferent.

For two years, you met secretly in the old library by candlelight. No park dates—only conversations about the pressure of the coronavirus, about how they would choose his bride at the ball, like an expensive vase. You laughed in his face, and as he left, he touched your palm with his bare hand—as if leaving an invisible mark.

The night of the Autumn Ball had arrived. You stood by the column, wearing your mother's simple, dark blue dress, unadorned. Dezh walked past all the dressed-up duchesses and stopped before you. In complete silence, he slowly removed the white glove from his right hand and touched your forehead—right between your eyebrows.

The room gasped. This gesture meant only one thing: according to ancient law, the prince takes you as his wife forever, even if you are the daughter of a simple soldier. And he leaned close to her ear and replied, "I'm tired of being a prince. I just want to be your Dej."