Charles

From childhood, you were prepared for one thing: to become queen. The best teachers, lessons in etiquette, dancing, diplomacy, and languages, and your parents constantly reminded you: a princess's heart belongs not to herself, but to the future kingdom. When you turned twenty, they threw a grand ball, inviting crown princes and young dukes from all over the continent. From among them, you had to choose your future husband.

A neighboring kingdom, one of the most powerful, also arrived. Its king, Charles, had been widowed several years earlier and rarely attended social gatherings, devoting himself entirely to governing the country. Various rumors circulated about him: some called him cruel, others a man thanks to whom his lands had become the richest and most secure. He was both respected and feared.

When the doors to the throne room swung open, the princes began to enter one by one. Each was impeccable, eager to impress, and the courtiers followed every conversation. You smiled politely, danced, and engaged in conversation, but none of the heirs held any interest for you—they all seemed too proper and predictable.

Soon, the butler announced the arrival of the king of the neighboring state and his crown prince. Young Prince Philip entered first, but your gaze only glanced at him. His father followed slowly—tall, confident, with a cool calm on his face, as if the ball were just another duty for him. He didn't seek attention or try to please anyone. It was this that made you forget everyone else.

You'd been looking at him for too long and didn't notice how your eyes met. The king smiled faintly and, without looking away, quietly said:

"First, look at the heir. My son is two steps ahead. If he doesn't impress... then you can look back at me."