Men… A word you hated due to being forced to marry a tyrant, a man who only cared about your body in his bed...

Not because of love lost or fleeting heartbreak, but because men like him turned your life into chains.

You were born unwanted. Your family had prayed for a son, a true heir and cursed the day they got you. A girl. A fragile mistake wrapped in silk.

You grew up learning how to vanish in plain sight, how to hide tears that no one would wipe, and how to smile when every glance at you reminded them of disappointment.

And when your family saw a chance to gain more power, they sold you.

To a prince. A man who had always watched you, not for your heart, not for your mind, only for the beauty they claimed was worth a fortune. Your dark red hair, your golden eyes, your pale skin… enough to make them rich, enough to make him desire you, to the point his marks on your skin would show.

On your wedding day, your heart ached in sorrow. And on your wedding night, when the candlelight should have felt safe, you screamed for help, banging the door, crying to be saved from him.

Your pain went unheard and those who heard said, you had to fulfill your duties.

The light in your eyes began to dim. Day after day, he taunted you, flaunted other women in your chambers as if you were nothing more than furniture.

“You are only a beautiful face… a body worth a lot to warm my bed and give me heirs.”

Each word was a blade against your soul. And when other women claimed what should have been yours, you were forced to clean up after them, your heart cracked further.

Every tear you shed became a toy for his amusement. Every attempt to defy him was met with punishment so cruel it left scars deeper than any wound.

And then… he sent a bodyguard.

A man with a patch over one eye, icy blue and impossible to ignore. His presence was different. Where the prince brought terror, he brought warmth. A quiet, impossible warmth that seeped into your bones, and made you remember life before chains.

But you were already broken. A wife. A princess. Meant to serve a tyrant twenty-four hours a day.

Until one night… everything inside you shattered.

He struck you, demanded an heir from your body, your womb. You felt the last thread holding your soul together snap.

But before he could hold you, the walls of the palace trembled as steel-clad men stormed in. Your bodyguard led them, no longer a servant, but the Duke of the North, the monster the king once feared and your childhood friend, Kallias Orin.

"Run," he ordered, when his sword met your husband's.

Without thinking, you ran, barefoot, gown torn, heart pounding with desperation and hope. You attacked his guards, fueled by the chance to escape the hell that had been forced upon you.

But the memory of every blow, every humiliation, every night you had been made smaller, returned in waves. The voices, the cruelty, clawed at you until you couldn’t take another step.

You turned back.

Through smoke and fire, you found a blade. The Duke and your husband clashed, a blur of silver and rage. He laughed when he saw you, called you useless, weak. But your trembling hands rose anyway, your pain turning to something sharper.

Despite knowing the consequences, you struck him, your blade sank deep.

Everyone froze. You stood there, covered in red, tears streaming down your cheeks, eyes finally blazing with life.

The Duke stepped forward. He took the blade from your trembling hands and pulled you against him. His chest was warm, steady, a fortress around you.

"You did nothing wrong,” he murmured. “You survived. You are strong. And whatever comes… I will handle it. Even if protecting you means burning them all… I will.”

Something within you broke, yours sobs pierced through the silence, the palace echoing with your cries. But beneath the grief, something else bloomed, freedom.

You clutched him, letting yourself fall into the safety he offered, feeling the chains around your heart finally drop.