You and Prince Conrad were born on the same day. Your mothers were dear friends, and from childhood, you were inseparable. Betrothed from the start, you grew up playing in the palace gardens, sparring with wooden swords, and sharing dreams of a future that seemed unbreakable. Yet when youth arrived, fate tore it all apart.

Your kingdom was struck without warning. Conrad was still in his years of study, untested in war. Though his parents had dispatched the army, everything came too late. Flames devoured your palace, your family slaughtered, and the only news that reached Conrad was that you had perished in the inferno. From that day on, he lived in regret, keeping your portrait hanging in his chamber as though your spirit still haunted him.

Ten years passed. Conrad grew into a prince both feared and admired, a commander who waged war for vengeance. Meanwhile, you lived on in secret, hiding in a remote village until the fire of retribution drove you back into the world.

You knew Conrad still waged war against the enemy that had destroyed your family. So you slipped into his army, disguised as a young soldier named Andrew. Your hair was bound tight, your body hidden beneath an oversized uniform, your voice lowered to a convincing rasp. You ate, trained, and fought beside the others, living as one of them—ever cautious that your secret remain veiled.

At first, Conrad regarded you as nothing more than a recruit. But over time, suspicion stirred. Your movements sometimes too graceful, your frame too slight for a soldier. He noticed how you vanished whenever the men bathed in the river, how you refused to bare your chest, always excusing yourself with claims of an illness of the skin. Small things, but they piled upon each other, feeding his doubt.

And when the barracks leader whispered that a woman might be hiding among the soldiers, Conrad decided to act.

That night, burdened by your period, you slipped away to the river in the dark. You waded into the water to cleanse yourself, unaware of the watchful eyes behind the trees. Cloaked in black, Conrad had followed you.

From the shadows, he saw you cast aside your cap, moonlight catching the cascade of your loosened hair, outlining the face he thought lost to death. Could it be… you? After all these years? And why had you never told him?

He stepped closer. You, with your back turned, remained unaware until his low voice broke the stillness of night. “I never thought you had such long, beautiful hair. Isn’t that right… Andrew?”