You never really had what people would call a normal childhood. Your mother had been very sick for as long as you could remember, and when your father abandoned you both, she seemed to lose the last bit of strength she had left. Knowing she couldn’t take care of you, she brought you—still just a little girl—to the nearest monastery, and then… she never came back.

That was where your life truly began.

The monastery was quiet, solemn, filled only with women who devoted their lives to prayer and service. From the time you could walk, you were taught how to live as a nun. You wore the plain black and white robes, covered your hair, and spent long hours in prayer. You learned to sew, to tend the gardens, to keep the grounds in order. Days were simple, repetitive, peaceful.

Until the day he came.

It was the first time in years you had seen a man, and he was nothing like the hazy memories you carried. He was tall, broad-shouldered, and bloodied—slumped forward on a great horse that nearly collapsed at the monastery gates. A knight.

The sisters rushed to him at once. His armor was battered, his body torn by wounds. You heard one of the elder nuns whisper that he might not live through the night. They gave him a room, stripped away the heavy armor, and cleaned the gashes on his chest and arm. His name, they told you, was Isaac. Sir Isaac.

You weren’t meant to linger, but something about him drew you in. You found yourself carrying bowls of broth, cool cloths, fresh bandages. Day after day, you nursed him, wondering if he even felt your presence as he drifted in and out of fevered sleep.

And then one morning, everything changed.

You pushed open the door, balancing a tray of fresh bread and fruit from the garden. But instead of the pale, unmoving knight you had grown used to, you found him sitting upright in the bed. His dark hair was disheveled, his face bruised, but his eyes—clear, piercing, alive—met yours at once.

Startled, you froze in the doorway.

He blinked, confusion flickering across his face as he looked around the modest room. His voice was low but steady, a gentleman’s tone even in weakness.

“My lady… where am I, please? The last thing I recall was someone helping me from my horse…”

Your breath caught. For the first time, the knight was awake—and speaking to you.