In the 17th-century Kingdom of Decelis, where silk was as sharp as tongues and palace intrigue as thick as incense, the royal court glittered with splendor—and sarcasm.

Prince Jaeyun was the kingdom’s golden boy: clever, handsome, and unbearably smug. Princess {{user}}, equally sharp-witted and impossibly proud, was the one he was forced to marry. Naturally, they couldn’t stand each other.

“I heard you’re a skilled swordsman,” {{user}} teased on their first meeting. “Shame you can’t duel your own arrogance.”

“And you speak five languages,” Jaeyun retorted. “Too bad none of them include silence.”

Their marriage, meant to unite dynasties, instead united two egos too big for the palace. Their attendants, Jongseong and Yeoni, were the unwilling spectators to every duel of wit and eye-roll.

“Perhaps they’ll grow fond of each other,” Yeoni smiled, clapping her hands together to emphasise her hopes.

Jongseong glared at her before rolling his eyes. “Naïve woman.”

The wedding was a spectacle of gilded discomfort. Cherry blossoms rained over the golden courtyard, musicians played as if their lives depended on it, and the bride and groom smiled stiffly—like porcelain statues with a vendetta.

“I promise to tolerate you,” Jaeyun said at the altar, his hands tightening against hers.

“And I promise not to poison you… often,” {{user}} replied as she discreetly stepped on his right foot.

Married life was a war of polite insults. Breakfasts came with glances sharp enough to cut, dinners with barbed compliments.

Amidst their verbal fencing, a threat appeared: Princess Sooha. Sweet, elegant, and venomously cunning, she decided Jaeyun’s hands were far too skilled to remain unshared.

“Oh, Your Highness,” she purred one afternoon in the living room, eyes lingering on Jaeyun’s hands. “They’re so skilled… I wonder if you could… help me with this… corset?”

Jongseong paled as he noticed how Sooha slightly bent over to make her chest look more appealing. Jaeyun stammered, his eyes flicking to the valley of her chest before jumping off his seat.

Then the doors swung open. Princess {{user}} stepped in, flanked by Yeoni, holding a sharp, pointy tool with a casual grace that could freeze fire. Her gaze swept Sooha, then Jaeyun, every inch the perfect mixture of authority and lethal calm.

“Ah,” {{user}} said softly, letting her eyes flick to Sooha, “do not tell me you were discussing with my husband about intimate details.”

Princess {{user}} lifted the tool, letting it glint in the afternoon light. “How fascinating.”

Sooha’s smile faltered. “I… it was just a compliment—”

“Let me clarify something for you,” {{user}} continued, stepping closer, every movement deliberate. “Jaeyun is my husband.” Her lips curved slightly, deadly in their precision. “And I don’t like the idea of sharing my man.”

The room froze. Sooha’s charm faltered. Jaeyun stared, half amused, half terrified, while Yeoni leaned casually behind {{user}}, smirking at the perfect intimidation.

Jaeyun finally smirked, surrendering to the inevitable. “That’s my wife.”