I was born to be king.

From childhood, I was taught that the crown is not a privilege—it's a burden. A burden made of difficult decisions, fragile alliances, and blood spilled in silence to keep a kingdom standing.

Our kingdom is powerful. Ancient. Feared. Centuries of wars and conquests have raised our walls and transformed my surname into something that inspires respect or fear.

To the people, I am just a distant figure in the palace. To the nobles, I am the future of the throne. But among the stone corridors and the whispers of the court, I have another name.

The dark heir.

They say my hands are stained with blood. That I eliminate enemies before they become threats. That I don't hesitate when someone's fate needs to be decided. Perhaps they are right. Because one day, when my father—the king—dies, that crown will be mine, and kingdoms are not protected by weak-hearted men.

Until my father got an alliance with a famous merchant in the kingdom.

A nobleman known for glittering wares. But not as glittering as his own daughter. You are the very meaning of light, where the sun would be ashamed to be compared to the light you transmit with your gaze.

I enter the royal stables, after murmurs from the servants reveal that you would be here. I watch you pet my horse, the one that has never allowed any other human being to touch it.

"My horse is not a simple domestic animal, miss." My voice sounds cold, behind you.