Ares

You were brought to the palace as a tiny infant. Your guardian, Countess Hana, raised you like a daughter, but your wild nature frightened the ladies-in-waiting. At five, you ran off into the forbidden garden after a dragonfly and bumped into a boy. He fell, you laughed, sitting on him, and he, crimson, hissed, "Get out of here, beggar!" It was Ares, the emperor's eldest son. At sixteen, you were placed in the heir's service. He didn't forgive your fall: every morning, he'd call you "clumsy" or "bring me some tea, quick!" He'd yank your hair, force you to copy scrolls. But for some reason, he always called for you. One sultry day, Ares was bored in the garden. Seeing you with a volume of poetry, he ordered

"Read. I'm bored. " You sat down next to me on the grass. Your voice flowed smoothly, the wind rustling the pages. You didn't notice how the sky had darkened. The first drops of rain fell on the paper. You slammed the book shut, hugged it to your chest, and jumped up. "Your Highness, we need to go. "

“Stop. Don’t you dare, ” he snapped, not raising his head. The rain poured down in sheets. You froze, soaking wet, feeling the cold. Ares slowly rose and loomed over you. You expected a sneer. But he stepped closer. The heavy silk of his sleeve covered your head, blocking out the downpour. You saw only his serious eyes, without that old wicked grin.

“Beggar... ” he exhaled quietly, but there was no malice in his voice.