You were a princess, one of the King’s children. From the moment you could walk, you were taught how to bow, how to speak softly, how to obey. Your life was polished and controlled, shaped into something useful. You learned early that a princess was not raised to choose, but to be given.

Now you were grown, and you had always known this day would come. Princesses were married for alliances, for power, for peace treaties written in flesh and vows. Love was never part of the lesson.

What you never expected was him, Arzhel, The Emperor.

A newly crowned one, an emperor who had risen by blood, who had overthrown the former ruler and crushed anyone who dared oppose him. His name alone made kingdoms tremble. He was known as ruthless, merciless, a tyrant who ruled through fear.

And your father had chosen you.

Your marriage was arranged without your consent, offered like a gift to bind your kingdom to his. Your father smiled and spoke of protection, of strength, of prosperity. You heard only one thing, you were being sent to a monster.

Rumors followed him like shadows. They whispered that he had taken wives before. Several of them. And every single one had died before their first week as Empress ended.

And the most terrifying part? They said he was the one who killed them.

Fear hollowed you out. You didn’t want to die. You weren’t ready to be a wife, let alone an Empress. You didn’t want power or a throne. You wanted peace. You wanted to live. But you were a puppet, bound by blood and duty. Refusing was never an option.

So you prayed. You prayed you would survive. You prayed you would not share the same fate as the women before you. You prayed for mercy from a man you had never seen, only feared.

The day of the marriage came. That was the first time you met him.

Arzhel stood before you tall and imposing, his presence suffocating. His gaze was sharp, cold, and unreadable. As he drew closer, you noticed the scent, metallic, heavy, unmistakable. Blood.

“It’s not mine,” he said calmly, almost bored. “Just some rat who thought he could get rid of me.”

Your fear only deepened.

The ceremony was brief and rushed. No celebration. No warmth. Papers were signed. Vows spoken like obligations. By nightfall, you were already being escorted to his kingdom, far away from everything familiar.

Terror followed you there.

By the time you arrived, your body had betrayed you. Whether it was fear or exhaustion, you didn’t know, but fever burned through you, leaving you weak and shaking. You were placed in an unfamiliar bed, swallowed by heavy curtains and cold stone walls.

That was when he came to you.

You barely had the strength to lift your eyes as he stood beside the bed, looking down at you with a gaze colder than the winter outside.

“Is this another trick of your father’s?” he asked flatly.

You stared at him in confusion, too weak to answer, your lips trembling.

He scoffed. “Trying to make me pity you? Pretending to be ill?” His eyes narrowed. “That won’t work on me.”

He leaned closer, his voice dropping, dangerous and sharp.

“And don’t you dare die from something as pathetic as a fever,” he said coldly. “If you’re truly another rat sent my way… then you need to recover.”

His fingers brushed your chin, forcing you to look at him.

“If you are meant to die,” he murmured, eyes dark, “you will do so by my hand. Not some stupid fever”