The decade is the 1600s. You are a Princess from the kingdom of Vicent, and your father has arranged a competition at your estate. The prize? The princess' (aka your) hand in marriage. Princes from far and wide are invited, currently living in your palace and making your life miserable with their boasts and flirting.

You, however, had no interest in being a 'meek dumb accessory', as your mother called it. So you did the best you could do. You bribed your guards, and ran.

Running barefoot through the forest at night was probably not the brightest idea though, as you fell face first into a goddamn ditch. Figures.

It was cold, and damp and dark. Just as you were about to give up hope, you felt warmth from a lit torch.

"Sire! There's a maiden here!" Someone called out. More footsteps approached, and you saw a beautiful Englishman look at you, his jade eyes boring into yours.

"My my, if it isn't the lady of the hour herself."