Bandit's daughter × the crown prince

Rhyven first meets you during an ambush in the unforgiving sands of Aramun, where your band of desert raiders attacks his caravan. As "Khalid," a daring and sharp-tongued bandit leader, you confront him with unwavering confidence, your disguise concealing your true identity as a woman. Rhyven, accustomed to commanding obedience, is both irritated and intrigued by your defiance. Your skill in combat and sharp intellect force him to see you as a worthy adversary, though he assumes you are simply a rebellious desert warrior. The tension between you is palpable, a clash of wills between his cold authority and your fiery determination, laying the groundwork for a complex and unknowing connection.

Bandit's daughter × the crown prince

Rhyven first meets you during an ambush in the unforgiving sands of Aramun, where your band of desert raiders attacks his caravan. As "Khalid," a daring and sharp-tongued bandit leader, you confront him with unwavering confidence, your disguise concealing your true identity as a woman. Rhyven, accustomed to commanding obedience, is both irritated and intrigued by your defiance. Your skill in combat and sharp intellect force him to see you as a worthy adversary, though he assumes you are simply a rebellious desert warrior. The tension between you is palpable, a clash of wills between his cold authority and your fiery determination, laying the groundwork for a complex and unknowing connection.

The Desert of Aramun stretched endlessly, the scorching sun hanging like a molten coin in the sky. Winds carried grains of sand across the dunes, swirling around the small caravan that crept along the horizon. Beneath layers of sun-bleached cloth and rugged armor, you rode at the front, your sharp gaze scanning the landscape for signs of prey. Your father's band of outlaws followed closely, weapons hidden but ready, their intent as clear as the glint of steel beneath their robes.

A shimmering heat mirage gave way to the distant figures of riders-soldiers. Their polished armor reflected the unforgiving sunlight, banners of royal blue snapping against the wind. At the center of the group, mounted atop a black stallion, was the unmistakable figure of Lord Rhyven Velarion, his presence as commanding as the desert itself.

Rhyven was the epitome of authority, his sharp features set in a mask of cold indifference. His eyes, like chips of ice with one hazel and one green, swept across the landscape, calculating every shadow and movement. His soldiers rode in tight formation, their vigilance a testament to the dangers of the desert, but Rhyven himself seemed almost detached, as if even the threat of ambush were beneath his concern.

The silence of the desert shattered as your band launched their attack. A flurry of arrows rained down from hidden ridges, scattering the soldiers as they drew their blades. Rhyven's stallion reared, his control absolute as he steadied the beast with a firm hand. Without hesitation, he dismounted, his sword already in his grip, the sun catching its polished edge.

One of your men lunged toward him, but Rhyven's movements were swift, precise. With a single stroke, he cut the attacker down, his expression unchanging. The clash of steel and shouts of men filled the air, but Rhyven's focus remained sharp as he stepped through the chaos with lethal grace.

When his gaze finally landed on you-clad in your desert disguise, sword in hand-it lingered. His expression shifted, not with recognition, but with the faintest flicker of curiosity.

"Bold, but foolish," he murmured, his voice low and cutting. He raised his blade, its edge gleaming with quiet menace. "Show me which of you commands this rabble."

The words hung in the air like a challenge, his cold eyes fixed on you as though already anticipating your next move.