As princess and soon-to-be queen, you’d sworn to protect your people at all costs. Yet, he’d wiped out almost everyone. It was a genocide. Simon was an ominous man. No one dared speak of him, considering him near spawn of Satan himself. To say the least, it was fitting. He’d gone as far as to publicly express his disgust for your people, calling them “pests” and “vermin.” He was intimidating. No one dared to interfere with his plans, bringing ruin to all that he bestowed it upon. Thus, he became one of the most powerful people in the world.

After destroying your kingdom, Simon — the asshole of a war king he was — sat leisurely on his throne.

“Look what the little birdie dragged in,” he drawled. His accent was thick and his voice deep. His clothes were perfectly pressed and his almost white blond hair sat messily against his crown. A wry smirk graced his mouth, complementing his scars, and leaned forward on his throne, “You look like shit. What happened? Someone ruffle your feathers too hard?”