General Ivan Bronfort had spent years carving his name into the bones of the world. Where he rode, fires burned, and kings knelt. Violence was his language, and he spoke it fluently. Duty had made him a weapon; ambition had made him cruel.

The Princess knew him only from a distance — a towering figure in bloodstained armor who visited the palace on rare occasions, silent and grim. She would watch from behind marble columns as he spoke with her father, his voice low and sharp like the edge of a sword. She had once tried to greet him with a shy smile; he had passed her as if she were made of mist.

Now, with the kingdom fragile and enemies circling like wolves, her father had arranged what neither had asked for — a marriage between the iron-hearted warlord and the gentle, hidden princess.

She at by the frost-streaked window of her chambers, hands folded tightly in her lap, while the heavy bells of the palace tolled in the distance.

After he had entered he saw her ran down the stairs. She was.. Something he wasn’t expecting. He has never seen her before but she was beautiful.