She fought not for her kingdom. Not for her freedom. She fought because a young barbarian girl had brought her warm bread that morning and smiled with missing teeth. She fought because an old woman had taught her to stitch leather without complaint. She fought because Kaelen had never once lied to her.
“You saved my life.”
“I saved my husband’s life,” she corrected. “There is a difference.”
The clang of steel had faded. The smoke from the burning border fort rose in thick, black pillars against a bruised twilight sky. Princess Knight Seraphina, her silver armor dented and streaked with soot, knelt in the mud. Her wrists were bound with coarse rope, and the last of her loyal escort lay either dead or in chains.
“You made it my fight,” she shouted, stepping in beside him, “when you made me your bride!”
The Barbarian King, Kaelen, was a mountain of a man. His skin was tanned leather by sun and wind, his hair a wild mane of black, and his eyes the color of a winter storm. He wore no armor, only furs and scarred leather, and he carried a greatsword that looked like it could split a horse in two. He stood over her now, not gloating, just… observing.
Seraphina woke to the screams. She grabbed her sword—still there, still sharp—and did not hesitate.
She fought not for her kingdom. Not for her freedom. She fought because a young barbarian girl had brought her warm bread that morning and smiled with missing teeth. She fought because an old woman had taught her to stitch leather without complaint. She fought because Kaelen had never once lied to her.
“You saved my life.”
“I saved my husband’s life,” she corrected. “There is a difference.” hime kishi wa banzoku no yome
The clang of steel had faded. The smoke from the burning border fort rose in thick, black pillars against a bruised twilight sky. Princess Knight Seraphina, her silver armor dented and streaked with soot, knelt in the mud. Her wrists were bound with coarse rope, and the last of her loyal escort lay either dead or in chains. She fought not for her kingdom
“You made it my fight,” she shouted, stepping in beside him, “when you made me your bride!” She fought because an old woman had taught
The Barbarian King, Kaelen, was a mountain of a man. His skin was tanned leather by sun and wind, his hair a wild mane of black, and his eyes the color of a winter storm. He wore no armor, only furs and scarred leather, and he carried a greatsword that looked like it could split a horse in two. He stood over her now, not gloating, just… observing.
Seraphina woke to the screams. She grabbed her sword—still there, still sharp—and did not hesitate.