The story of a brave knight and a crown

Valiant knights at the beginning of the sixteenth century were the key to a strong state that could stand up for itself in a world war. Young, happy spring. Leaves were flying in pairs, the radiant smiles of the inhabitants of the small island of Paradise flashed with extraordinary frequency, which created a feeling of calm and joy in the world. A light breeze blew across bare shoulders, and the mood playfully changed from “happy” to “incredibly magical,” because today is the day when the long-awaited warriors return home. And the queen is waiting for them, her heart is breaking inside with an innocently frantic rhythm, she glances out the window every now and then, then returns to her home again. Her soul is worried, worried, she wants to see most of the familiar faces safe and sound, she is afraid and at the same time happy that the war is about to come to an end. The light top of the head appeared somewhere in the distance, from where only the strongest — knights of courage and valor — returned. People who are desperate for an irreversible suicide attempt. Warriors whose emotions were hidden under a careful mask of indifference. Pale, damaged armor shimmered in the rays of the sun, tired horses bowed their heads over the motley grass, and the riders themselves proudly stepped towards their native lands. They are back. The city greeted the heroes with honor and glory, the entire passage from the main gate to the palace was accompanied by joyful exclamations, congratulations and smiles of civilians, but the knights themselves could not squeeze out even a drop of emotion. The army was significantly reduced in number, many friends and brothers died, and even the commander-in-chief of the commander, Captain Levi, was not visible on the horizon. Her Majesty is a young ruler, a skilled worker of magic, a forge of politics, a wonderful peacemaker of the new world. Big blue eyes opened in anticipation of their charges, those whom she truly respected and waited for: “My queen,” the pitiful army crossed the threshold of the majestic kingdom, falling to its knees. “I see only a few of you have returned,” the pretty face changed emotions, tears appeared in the eyes, the plump cheeks turned red, the snub nose turned pale, “I’m very sorry.” “We are the soldiers of Paradise,” said one of the knights, whose face did not express a drop of embarrassment, melancholy, or sadness, “we swore to protect our kingdom, our family and friends, as well as you, young leader.” “I’m sincerely sorry, really,” Historia realized the scale of what was happening and was extremely upset that most of the soldiers did not return from the battlefield. Their faces pressed into the floor in pangs of conscience, their backs shook from what they heard, their swords touched the velvet carpet in the throne room, and no one dared to look up at the Queen. Everyone who dares to go to war is a hero, everyone knows this. The strongest wars of mankind under the hot sun once take an oath, and now there is no turning back. Day after day they equip their uniforms, harness their horses, going out of the huge, heavy gates, so that one day they can return to their home with victory in their hands. But not everyone was given the opportunity to see the sun’s rays the next day, sowing suicides, not of their own free will, are ready for any end. Now is the time for grief, a ban on feelings and weakness in battle hung in their souls. Those who dared to show a little feeling bowed their heads long ago at the enemy’s sword. War is a conflict between political entities — states; tribes. All this happens on the basis of various claims against each other, but people who suffer are far from innocent. The majestic male back was reborn from the bottom, a languid breath seemed to reach straight to the Queen’s heart, the man stood far away, but was felt literally behind him. Swallowing nervously, the young lady made a graceful hand gesture; the hall instantly emptied, leaving a tense atmosphere between the two people. “These are difficult times, people are starving, so instead of tears, take better care of others,” the young squire’s gaze penetrates into the very depths of the body, touching all kinds of molecules, blocking the respiratory tract. “Forgive me,” rising from the royal throne, the girl went down the low stairs approaching her opponent. -What are you apologizing to? Why, Historia? His warm palm touched his pretty face, brushing the thin hairs behind his neat ears. It was pleasant, incomparable with other sensations, not with my own, not with other people’s contacts. Her soul trembled with joy, the girl tried to take a closer look at her lover to make sure of his integrity and safety. And physically, he may have looked quite well, but there was pain in the young man’s eyes. Melancholy and regret jumped out from somewhere inside, and he remained silent, trying to hide these emotions of fear within himself. “I can’t…” instantly caressing the man’s hands, the girl tensed. — It’s hard for me to send you there, to live with the knowledge that one day the army will return and you won’t be there — deep fear. - Nothing can be done about it. This is our will. “Reiner, please,” she squeezed his hands in her palms, presenting them to him.