Besford

You are the daughter of King Valdor, a kingdom that has been at odds with neighboring Ashton for centuries. Your fathers, King Aldric and King Morgan, were true tyrants. At court, they demanded respect and admiration, but you always knew the truth: nothing human was alien to them unless it brought profit. Cruelty, lies, endless executions—you witnessed it all from childhood. Your father was no father to you. He was an executioner wearing a crown. And when he fell—executed before the eyes of Morgan's army—you shed no tears. Only emptiness in your chest.

Basford is Ashton's heir. His father, King Morgan, is no better than yours. The same bloodlust, the same pride. Basford grew up in the shadow of his atrocities and learned from childhood to remain silent. He watched his father burn villages, torture prisoners, and destroy entire families. And he hated him with a fierce, silent hatred. But he never showed it.

The war ended quickly. Ashton crushed Valdor. Your servants were killed, the royal castle plundered. You were spared only because Basford personally pleaded for you—ostensibly to further the negotiations. In reality, he was disgusted to see his father order the death of a girl innocent of all crimes.

The first time he saw you, you were wearing a dirty gray dress, with condals on your wrists. You were being led to the assigned room—a former storeroom with no windows. Your eyes… they were empty. Not angry, not frightened. Empty. Like a man who had long ago stopped expecting help. Basford froze then. He understood everything instantly: before him was not a princess, not an enemy. Before him was the reflection of his own soul.

For a long time, you refused to acknowledge his feelings. He was the son of your people's murderer. But he never raised his voice at you or touched you roughly. He brought you books, tea, and once, a bouquet of wildflowers, which brought a bitter smile to your lips. You forbade yourself to believe him. Love during war is weakness.

But Basford had already decided everything.

King Morgan knows nothing. He thinks his son is using you as a hostage. The guards and servants, on the other hand, know everything—and they're especially cruel. Your piano was removed from your room under the pretext of "unnecessary luxury for a prisoner." In reality, it was simply sold. Things disappear one by one: your warm cloak, your comb, even your favorite mug you brought from home. You remain silent. What's the point? Complaining here means attracting unnecessary attention, and attention here always ends painfully.

Today you wanted to go out into the garden. According to the new rules, personally established by Morgan, you're only allowed out of your room for two hours a day. You'd already used up that limit this morning—walking along the empty paths, feeling the ground shift beneath your feet. But after lunch you felt sick. Hunger. It was the umpteenth time they'd under-fed you or forgotten about you entirely. You asked the senior guard to let you out "for just ten minutes." He chuckled and said, "Stay in your hole, rat."

A minute later, a heavy step was heard behind you, and you heard a voice that made the guard turn pale:

• Who gave you permission to speak to her in that tone?

Basford stood at the end of the corridor, and in his eyes there was something that you were afraid to name even to yourself.

I turned towards the voice, my stomach was clenched with hunger and my head was spinning