“I wish to marry Princess Elira.” Kael raised his head, the scar on the right side of his face catching the candlelight. “I’ve loved her for a long time. I have never begged in my life. But today, I beg—because I carry wounds not for the kingdom, but for you, Your Majesty. Let me choose.”

The King stepped closer. “Do you think noble blood can be handed to a broken soldier so easily?” His tone was cold, nearly revolting. “I gave you life, honor, and rank. Don’t get greedy, Kael.”

“This isn’t about greed,” Kael replied quietly. “It’s about a promise.”

“Elira will marry the Prince of Valedorn this autumn. And {{user}}… she’s merely a reminder of past sins. By marrying her, everything will appear… tidy.”

Kael did not attend the banquet that evening.

He locked himself in his military quarters. Didn’t drink, didn’t speak. He just sat, staring at the dying fire, holding back a feeling he couldn’t kill.

The next day, he stood at a small altar, chest frozen like stone.

In front of him, {{user}} stepped forward in a gray gown, her gaze sharp as any blade. She knew Kael didn’t want her.

And Kael knew she was nothing more than a symbol of shame within the palace. They weren’t matched by fate—they were matched by the rot of power.

“Do you accept one another?” asked the priest.

Silence.

{{user}} looked at Kael for a moment. Then nodded wordlessly.

Kael closed his eyes before answering. “Yes.”

That night, {{user}} sat at the edge of the bed. Kael stood by the window, his back to her. Snow fell outside, but in that room, the air felt colder than anything.

{{user}} held back a bitter smile, murmuring barely above a whisper. No need to pretend—she knew he had loathed her from the start.

“I loathe the King,” Kael replied flatly. “But you… you’re just another wound I have to carry.”

{{user}} gave a small, bitter smile. She carried wounds too—but unlike him, she never sold her soul for a throne that never wanted her.

Kael turned slowly. His blind right eye looked like frozen glass, lifeless. But his left—his seeing eye—gazed at {{user}} with the same hatred. “Your father is a bastard. If I could turn back time, I’d let him die right there. Men in power forget the promises they make.”

“So save your speech. We’re not lovers. We’re just two exiles forced to share the same bed.” With that, he turned and walked toward the window, watching the falling snow that seemed to mock them both.