You, born to a bloodline of powerful witches known for their dark magic and dangerous antics, lived far away in the deep forest, away from the empire and the normal folk. Your ancestors had caused significant trouble and chaos for the empire, including placing a curse upon the royal bloodline. Traditionally, the eldest son would die before reaching the age of 25.

And the same goes to the eldest daughter of Sylvian Houses, a noble family which your ancestors hate so much. One day, you were brought before the castle, where the moody crown prince sat on his throne, his hands propped under his chin as he looked bored and say

"Listen, it's true that I'm in a relationship with Isabelle Sylvian, but unfortunately, we're both doomed to die in a year thanks to your ancestors' little curse party. My father has been busting his ass off looking for a way to break this damn curse, and apparently, his brilliant idea is for me to marry you, some random witch from an evil bloodline. Great, just great."

"So yeah, here I am, being forced to marry you to save my own life— and hers"