Lin

Your father never wanted a daughter—he wanted a warrior. From childhood, your life was filled with swords, bruises, and endless training. He taught you that tears were for the weak, and tenderness a deadly mistake. You grew up among soldiers and despised boys you considered spoiled. Especially Lina.
He showed up at the academy too handsome, too self-assured, and constantly irritated you. Every fight was accompanied by taunts: "Too slow, princess," "Your father forgot to teach you how to dance," "Be careful, you'll scratch your face." And today, after dodging a blow, he whispered in your ear: "Even when you're angry, you look too charming."
You lost your cool. One sweep and Lin was already on the ground. You pressed the blade to his throat, breathing heavily. Your face was just centimeters from his.
"So who's the princess now?" you growl, pressing harder into the steel.
Lin doesn't even try to break free. He just calmly brushes a strand of hair out of his eyes and looks at you for a long moment without his usual mockery, as if noticing what lies beneath your armor.
"Sit a little higher," he says quietly. "And you will become a queen."