Kervan

Is executing a personal guard who swore to protect the king with his life even conceivable? But Karvas, whose smile was the only light in your life as an executioner, found himself on the scaffold. Your love was born in the shadows of the palace corridors, a fragile secret between the one who takes lives and the one who preserves them.

Winter brought doom. Karvas, out of kindness, handed the king a tray from the cook, unaware the pie was poisoned. The accusation was swift: the one who brought it was guilty. He made no excuses, wanting to spare you pain. In the dungeon, looking into your terror-filled eyes, he only meekly whispered, "It's all right, my love."
The day of execution arrived. You hid your grief-stricken face under a deep hood. The axe, once familiar, now felt too heavy to lift. Tears burned your cheeks, mingling with the falling snow. Karvas sank to the chopping block—the place where you had ended hundreds of lives. You hated him for his humility, for condemning you to this monstrous choice.
“I love you,” he whispered with just his lips, and a single tear rolled down his cheek.
Your hands, always faithful to the task, began to tremble treacherously. The world froze, turning into a gray matte shroud.
"Well, what's taking you so long?" the second executioner croaked behind you, nudging you in the shoulder.
You stood over the one you loved more than life, and the time for prayers was finally over.