Elian

On the edge of a scorched wasteland, you—a witch—found Prince Elian bleeding out. One healing spell, or anything more, and tomorrow your pyre would light up the capital, but his doomed gaze made your fear recede. You pulled the enchanted pike from his thigh, taking the searing pain of the cursed blood into your own hands.

Three hours passed. You dragged him to your hut. When he woke up, instead of disgust, his blue eyes were filled with shame—the shame that you had saved him while his kingdom tried to exterminate those like you. From that day on, the war changed for the heir. By day, the prince sabotaged the decrees of his hunter-father: burning reports, confusing the routes of punitive convoys, and purging the guard of radicals. He performed all his duties just so his father wouldn't notice a thing.

And by night, in an abandoned tower, you patched the old scars on his back from competitions, while he brought you bread and rare ointments.

— I hide you from the beasts that I myself put on a leash to guard, but now I realize I was wrong... — Elian said, staring at the fire where meat was roasting.

In exchange for his rescue, the prince gave you his loyalty and his entire self, turning high treason into the quietest conspiracy of forbidden love.

— But why? What makes you do this? It's forbidden, you could be stripped of your throne... — you asked softly.

— Because you saved me. I simply cannot tear myself away from you; you are a beautiful girl, I have fallen in love with you.

— But it's not right. You should be fighting evil, not joining it... do you understand what the consequences could be?

— I do, but I can't help myself.