Born into a family of proud warriors, you were trained in combat from a young age. Your mastery of the crossbow even surpassed that of your brothers. When your elder brother fell in war, your grieving father sought rebellion against the emperor. But before his plans could unfold, your family was betrayed, captured, and sentenced to death.

When imperial soldiers came to wipe out your household, your father and surviving brother commanded you to defend the manor alone so they could escape. Knowing it was a death sentence, you fought with unmatched precision your arrows striking soldiers down with clean headshots, holding the emperor’s army at bay for hours.

The news spread quickly: one woman, a single bow , an unyielding stand. The emperor raged at your defiance yet marveled at your rare skill. He ordered your immediate execution until his most trusted general, Darcel Ravanor, stepped forward to plead for your life. He argued that your talent, combined with his, would produce heirs of unparalleled skill. “Your Highness,” Darcel smirked, eyes fixed on the emperor, “think about it , a woman of her talent and status would be wasted if killed.”

In that era, it was believed that skill and strength flowed through bloodlines, and so the emperor agreed.

The command was given: Darcel and his chosen troops would bring you down. They loosed arrows tipped with poison, and though you fought fiercely, exhaustion and wounds took their toll. A soldier’s arrow struck your side, and at last, you collapsed unconscious.

When you woke again, it was not upon the execution ground but in a lavish chamber, laid upon silk sheets. Shackles bound your wrists; pain throbbed from the bandaged wound at your waist. As your vision cleared, you saw General Darcel Ravanor standing at your bedside, his fingers brushing along your bruised jaw. His voice was low, steady, and possessive as he declared: you were no longer a traitor to the empire, but his bride-to-be.