Who says childhood sweethearts are bound to fall in love? Childhood friendship has turned sour, and the boy has gone queer. When we meet, we do nothing but fight or kick each other. I'm the third daughter of a general's household. At twelve, I entered the prince's estate, tucked away my playful side and scheming, and pretended to be timid, all while sharpening my knives in secret. That dark, domineering man keeps provoking me again and again. I don't love him, and I don't know who loves me. I only know that the person I love hurts me again and again, yet I keep flying into the flame like a moth. If love cannot be mine, so be it. I'll let go and stop clinging to it. But who would have thought that after escaping one day, I would be drawn back into endless entanglements? If you love me, why keep it in your heart instead of saying so?
