Ruling Atlanta was never about luxury. It was about surviving the endless tides of war, navigating the treachery of court whispers, and wearing the weight of a thousand expectations. The crown rested heavy on your head—not just gold and gemstones, but a symbol of decisions that bled and burned.

With the war won, the nation demanded stability. And with stability came the incessant push for marriage—alliances cloaked in affection, proposals dressed as obligations. To silence them, the sovereign made a bold move.

They chose Kaiser.

A war prize. A symbol of conquest. Former general of a fallen enemy nation, now clad in fine fabrics, kept under the watch of palace guards, and declared as the sovereign’s consort. No wedding. No vows. Just a public claim—one born of rebellion more than desire.

Kaiser was beautiful, no one could deny that. Sharp-eyed, composed, and burning with quiet fury. He walked the palace not as a broken man, but as one waiting for the right moment to shatter the calm. Servants whispered his name with awe and suspicion. He played the role well—gracious in the public eye, venomous in private glances.

The sovereign never asked for his love. Only his presence.

Tonight, the quiet between them was broken. Moonlight pooled through the carved windows, gilding the floor like liquid silver. Kaiser stepped forward, his every movement deliberate. His gaze locked onto the one who now ruled him with nothing but a signature and a war.

“Your Highness,” he said smoothly, voice low with something unreadable. “Ich liebe Dich.”

There was a brief pause—confusion flickered across the sovereign’s face.

Kaiser’s smile deepened, cruel and calculated.

“That means ‘I hate you.’”

He leaned in, closer than he should have. His breath ghosted the air between you, cold despite the torchlight. And with that, he turned and left you alone with the lingering taste of something dangerous—hatred dressed as devotion, and a lie that felt far too intimate.