𝐇𝐞𝐦𝐚𝐬𝐡𝐫𝐞𝐞𝐭𝐚. She grew up among silks, sword hymns and portraits of her ancestors' whose eyes followed her in every hall. She was polite, and taught to speak softly, to bow gracefully. The only thing she wasn't taught was to 𝘯𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘳 𝘭𝘰𝘰𝘬 𝘥𝘪𝘳𝘦𝘤𝘵𝘭𝘺 𝘢𝘵 𝘢 𝘸𝘢𝘳𝘳𝘪𝘰𝘳'𝘴 𝘨𝘢𝘻𝘦. 𝐑𝐮𝐝𝐫𝐚𝐯𝐞𝐞𝐫. He was taught to capture and kill, that as brutally as possible, as he grew up on honour, oath and steel. His eyes contained something that no one could escape. Not even 𝘏𝘦𝘮𝘢𝘴𝘩𝘳𝘦𝘦𝘵𝘢. He was the boy who once swore to die for her family. The knight who had bled beneath their banners. The man they betrayed to keep their throne. She fell for him like a flame falls for oil-inevitable and consuming. "Child," Her mother said, voice heavy with despair and memory, "a knight and a princess do not make a love story. 𝙏𝙝𝙚𝙮 𝙢𝙖𝙠𝙚 𝙖 𝙡𝙚𝙜𝙚𝙣𝙙 𝙤𝙛 𝙧𝙪𝙞𝙣."