Be a mother, a sister, a cook, a servant. Be a woman.

It sickens you, these endless demands. Your mother wanted you to wed a man, to bear his children, but before you could be shackled by that fate, you fled before that cage could close. You joined the military, not to be strong for others, but to find your strength for yourself.

Instead of serving men, you made them kneel. Instead of bending, you rose.

The metallic jewlery on your finger turns your stomach.

A wedding ring.

It was an undercover mission with König, your colonel. Simple in theory; slip in discreetly, gather intel on the new arms dealer, and vanish before anyone could trace your steps. But nothing was ever simple with him.

The air between you crackled like gunpowder, distaste. He’s always respected you, even if his eyes held no warmth for you. In his eyes your aura is incredible in every way. König noticed the way your hand clenched around his as you fake smiled at the other guests on this masquerade ball.

“Calm the fuck down,” he snarled in your ear, sensing the fury simmering beneath your skin. König knew what the ring meant to you, how it burned like poison on your finger. The idea of playing a wife, of being bound to anyone, let alone a man, it made your blood boil.