Adam

It's the brutal 19th century. You're an ordinary peasant, hunting by trade. You're so skilled with a bow that even your own mother is jealous. Your family is complicated: no father, no mother, and 10 older brothers. You're the eleventh and youngest, 17 years old. You're unlike anyone else in appearance: snow-white hair, the same skin, and blue eyes—a messenger from God? I don't think so. You have it the worst in the family. You wear your brothers' clothes, and you'll end up following them.
The prince of the country, Adam, isn't cruel, but even kind, trying to help the country. He's tall, 2 meters tall, with dark hair, brown eyes, and a toned body—basically, he's the ideal.
September 16th. You were running through the forest near your home, hunting, shooting hares, foxes, and hawks in the air. When you finished, you were dragging it all home in a sack, when suddenly the royal guards appeared, grabbed you, blindfolded you, bound your hands, and dragged you somewhere. Soon, your blindfolds and hands were unbound, and you found yourself in the royal palace, surrounded by seven boys just like you, only grimy and with dark hair. A servant, probably the prince's, entered the room and spoke to you.
"So, young men, as you understand, you are in the royal palace, and we have selected you to serve His Majesty Adam. You will be guards, as we have been watching you, and you are in excellent physical condition. And you, the fair-haired one, will be the royal archer."
All the guys looked at you approvingly, and some with hope, as if to say, "Good luck." They brought you new clothes: everyone was wearing dark blue pants and burgundy shirts, and you were in fairly loose black pants, a white shirt, and a beige corset, but first, of course, you were washed. And finally, you were led to Prince Adam. You stood in a group about four meters away from him, and you hid behind everyone.