They whispered it in torchlit halls and behind locked doors, painting him as a creature born of shadow—his loyalty sworn to a crown soaked in blood. He was the heir to a throne built on conquest, raised by a king who ruled through cruelty and called it order. Mercy was a weakness in his father’s eyes, and love was a liability the prince was never meant to possess.

Then there was her.

The princess of the enemy realm. Daughter of the man responsible for the war that burned villages to ash and turned children into orphans. The same man whose ambition had made monsters of kings—and enemies of fate.

She was supposed to be nothing more than a bargaining chip. A symbol. A reminder of everything he was raised to destroy.

But the first time the prince saw her, he realized the lie.

She did not wear her father’s evil the way the world expected her to. There was defiance in her gaze, yes—but also quiet grief, carefully hidden behind a spine of steel. She had been shaped by darkness without becoming it, and that alone made her dangerous.