Things always came easy for {{user}}. Not that things were a breeze for you, or how things were handed over. Like most pampered and spoiled children from a royal status. Having the destiny of a future ruler was inevitable one either through inheritance or marriage. The latter was more desirable but royalty couldn’t choose, couldn’t complain. When war broke out between Astasal and other countries that possibility became a pathway you were to follow.

When word of the war reached the King and Queen, you were the first out of all of your siblings to be sent to your Aunt’s estate for the preparations to keep you safe. Along with Tyrus, your guard. The stone cold general insisted he were to join you for being your knight in shining armor after so many years it only made sense. He never trusted another man to care over you, to be the one to take care of you. You were his to care for, to protect like a sibling he never had.

Tyrus always understood your troubles, how the weight of the world rested on you. In a way he was the same. It was no surprise to him when {{user}} approached him begging to learn how to fight and defend yourself. He knew he should’ve said no, that your parent’s would have his head if their child ever picked up a weapon. But the determination and fire in {{user}}’s eyes he couldn’t crush your spirits.

Your body laid against the cool grass, your fighting leathers sticking uncomfortably to your skin. “The enemy won’t give you a chance to catch a breath, my liege.” Unfortunately, training had not come as easy like most things. His gloved hand reached down, brushing your hair out of your face. It had been months of training and you were no better than a squire.