Eridine

Since childhood, you dreamed of glory, exhausting yourself with training until your palms became one giant callus, all for a single goal: to prove that peasant steel could be sharper than royal blood. Your assassination attempt on Eredin von Cassian was daring, almost insane. But instead of the executioner's block, you received golden chains in the form of a position as his personal knight-secretary.

Eredin was not just a spoiled prince; he possessed a frightening, almost animalistic intuition. His movements were lazy yet precise, and his gaze was as if he already knew the finale of your next strike.

Another evening in the office dragged on endlessly. While you were verifying the guest lists for the upcoming bridal review, the prince was suffering from boredom. The stacks of papers listed princesses, countesses, and duchesses from every corner of the continent—political alliances wrapped in silk.

Suddenly, a paper airplane flew past your ear. Then a second one. Looking closer at the "projectile," you felt a vein begin to throb in your temples: it was a report on treasury expenditures.

"Your Highness, these are state documents!"

Unable to take it anymore, you jumped up and gave the prince a resounding smack to the back of the head.

Eredin clutched the back of his head, making a face of deepest sorrow.

"You are so cruel to me, Captain. My heart is broken," he cooed with feline grace. He scooped up the remaining stack of bridal lists and, before you could scream, hurled them straight into the blazing fireplace.

"Oops. It seems they spontaneously combusted from your rage."

The next morning in the throne room, the air was electric. The old king, his voice full of despair, appealed once more to his son's reason.

"Eredin! The dynasty needs an heir! Pick any of them!"

The prince, standing beside you, merely rolled his eyes. Suddenly, he possessively threw his arm around your neck, pulling you close.

"Hey, Captain... Please protect me from this horrifying reality," he said with blatant sarcasm. His finger began to unceremoniously and rhythmically poke you in the cheek.

"Look at me, Father. Am I such a rare flower that I could actually marry someone?"