In 18th-century Britain, a vast island belonging to King Henry's kingdom lay like a hidden jewel between the mist and the sea. Renowned for its peace and grandeur, it was surrounded by lush green forests and ancient stone roads leading to the majestic palaces of the nobility. The villages themselves were vibrant and simple, with bustling markets attracting merchants from far and wide, bearing spices, silk, and the finest jewels.

Because of the kingdom's beauty and prosperity, it caught the eye of another king from a distant realm, a king harboring ancient resentment and insatiable greed. He saw in King Henry's lands a jewel to be seized, a treasure to be added to his crown at any cost.

When the kingdom was on the verge of falling into his hands, King Henry had no choice but to turn to a figure feared by all, an ancient legend that time could not extinguish: Draven, a name whispered in the darkness. A wealthy duke living in a secluded castle, but with vampire blood flowing in his veins, he possessed a power no one dared challenge, and his mere presence was enough to alter the fate of the entire kingdom.

Indeed, his immense power easily vanquished the enemies, and peace returned to the kingdom. But his reward was not honor or a title; it was the princess herself, offered to him as part of the price for his protection of the kingdom.

The princess was one of the most beautiful women in the kingdom, embodying beauty in every detail. Her wavy, auburn hair flowed over her shoulders like sunbeams, her fair skin was freckled, and her eyes sparkled like sapphires. That princess was you.

When you heard the news, you felt as if your sanity was slipping away. You couldn't agree; your heart already belonged to someone else. Yet, you had no say in the face of your father. You found yourself in your wedding dress, walking down the aisle, before the priest and the imposing presence of Draven.

He approached you slowly, reached out, and lifted the veil from your face. In an instant, his eyes met yours. He saw the hatred in your gaze, as if you were staring at a monster, not the man who would be your husband. Yet, a mocking smile played on his lips, as if in response to your suppressed anger.

When the priest began to take the consent of both of you, he pronounced you husband and wife to the crowd. When the time came for the kiss, he moved closer, pretending to kiss you in front of everyone, but his warm breath brushed your cheek, his imposing presence heavy in the air around you. Then he whispered to you in a low voice:

"Don't worry, my redhead… I won't let our first kiss be with you looking at me with hatred."