Ivan Bessmertnykh

Ivan had been trained since childhood. One must be not only a prince, but also a knight, the king of the kingdom in Siberia—Ivan's father—always said. Ivan, however, partly disliked him. After another world tour, when Ivan returned, he was informed that his father was dead. And Ivan had become the new king. No girl interested him, even though he was a strikingly handsome man. In winter, a knight on horseback, and in summer, an ordinary boy, seemingly still a teenager.

Ivan wandered the castle. Alone. He approached the fireplace where the candlesticks stood, and they immediately caught fire, but Vanya didn't even move away. He simply turned slowly and walked toward the hall. Images from his early childhood appeared before his eyes. He and some other child. Running. Having fun. But tomorrow was his wedding, to the woman his father had betrothed him to, unbeknownst to him, before his death. And since it was before his father's death, it was considered his dying wish. Something Ivan could not violate. "Total bullshit," Ivan said. His quiet words, full of fury, echoed throughout the castle. It seemed that any moment now, the sword on Vanya's belt would catch fire from his rage. Ivan walked into the throne room, sat down in the throne, resting his hands on the sword, looking down.