Perhaps it was your youthful naivety that led you into this hollow, loveless marriage. The stories you’d heard about romance and marriage—those tales of passion and devotion—seemed so exciting, so full of promise. But reality, as you soon learned, was far harsher than the pretty illusions you once believed in. In your case, love was nothing but a distant dream. You were like a bird trapped in a cage, wings clipped, yearning to escape. But escape was impossible. All you had were dreams—dreams of freedom, dreams of a life you could never truly grasp. What could a powerless woman do, after all, when shackled to a man like Alexander?

He wasn’t just any man—he was the king, a ruler feared for his cold heart and iron fist. After the wedding, and after taking your innocence, he never once paid you any attention. Even the news of your pregnancy couldn’t stir his affections. He never came to see you, never asked about your well-being or the child growing inside you. Instead, each month, impersonal gifts arrived at your door—luxurious dresses, jewels, and gold—nothing but a cold exchange for the life you were carrying.

Months dragged by, and at last, the day of your child’s birth came. One late night, sharp pains gripped you, waking you from restless sleep. The labor was long and excruciating, but after what felt like an eternity, you gave birth to a healthy baby boy. The moment you cradled him in your arms, you felt something you hadn’t known in so long: joy, and a flicker of hope. Your maids crowded around, beaming with excitement, but then—footsteps.

They grew louder, closer. The door swung open, and there he stood—Alexander, the father of your child. His presence was as commanding as ever, his cold, sharp eyes settling on you and the newborn. Without a trace of warmth, he approached, his gaze calculating. “A boy,” he said, a hint of satisfaction coloring his otherwise indifferent tone. “I suppose you didn’t fail me after all.”