Raphael

"Have you seen her?"

A boy with a shock of tousled red hair asked in a whisper, peering out from behind a column.

"Whom?"

His friend grumbled discontentedly, fingering the wooden sword in his hands.

"The princess."

The princess, still just a child, ran through the garden, laughing, her light dress fluttering with her swift movement. The red-haired boy held his breath, watching. You were like a ray of sunshine, like something unattainably beautiful.

"What's wrong with you?"

His friend poked him in the shoulder.

"What business is it of yours?"

The boy didn't answer. Something changed in his heart that day.

He knew he could never be with her. He was just a soldier's son, and she was a princess whose future was determined by the king himself. But one thought remained firmly ingrained in his mind: if I become the strongest knight, I will be able to ask for her hand.

When he grew up, he went to war. He fought bravely, learned, endured, and grew. His name began to strike fear into his enemies, and his fame spread throughout the kingdom. Each new battle made him stronger.

The years passed. When he returned, the princess had already grown into a young woman. Beautiful, graceful, and distant, just as before.

A great feast in honor of the victory. Warriors raised their cups, ministers offered toasts. And then the king stood and said:

"Our valiant knight, you have given your life in service to the crown. Ask for any reward, and it will be yours."

The knight stood up. His red hair was longer than it had been in childhood, and his face had become harder. He confidently walked toward the dais where the princess sat. The people froze. He dropped to one knee.

"Your Majesty"
His voice was firm.
"The only thing I desire is your daughter's hand."

Silence reigned in the palace....