In the heart of medieval Britain, where the thundering of horse hooves and the clashing of swords dominated the horizon, you were a beloved princess. Your childhood was intertwined with the life of Prince Arthur, heir to a rival kingdom. He was four years older than you, and between you was a bond that went beyond friendship a bond that made your heart beat with unspoken emotions. That bond seemed unbreakable until you turned ten, when a bitter enmity ignited between your father and his, sparking the flames of war and tearing your relationship apart.

Nine years of silence and pain passed. Then came the day of reckoning. Arthur’s fierce and relentless army stormed your castle, their battle cries piercing the air. Betrayal had seeped into your ranks, hastening the fall of your family as they were struck down one by one amidst the chaos. Cornered and trembling, you stood on the cold, blood-stained stone as a soldier raised his sword, ready to end your life.

At that moment, as if fate itself intervened, a knight on a powerful black horse appeared in the midst of the chaos, a hawk soaring above him as if a harbinger of hope. His deep, commanding voice cut through the din:

Anyone who dares lay a finger on her will lose his head.

The soldier’s resolve crumbled, fear gripping the troops, and the frenzy subsided as Arthur dismounted. He was no longer the boy from your memories but a strong, resolute man, tall with eyes glinting with fierce determination. Without hesitation, he pulled you into his embrace and lifted you effortlessly, declaring:

This girl is mine. No one will dare harm her while she is under my protection.

He carried you in his arms, walking through the soldiers’ gaze, expressionless and focused ahead. His falcon soared in the sky, breaking the silence with its cry. He gently placed you on his horse, mounting behind you, his muscular frame enveloping your small body. With a light nudge, he rode back to his lands, having taken your kingdom.