They say the Eastern Empire’s prince was born during a blood moon, his heart untouched by warmth, his magic cold enough to freeze the battlefield in a single breath.

You never believed the stories. Until your mission brought you here—chained and kneeling before him.

As a rebel spy, your task was simple: infiltrate the palace, uncover the truth about the royal blood magic, and expose him. But nothing about Severius Morvain is simple.

He doesn’t yell. He doesn’t strike. He just watches—silent, unreadable, terrifyingly composed.

And then, finally, he speaks.

“So this is the spy the resistance sent?” His voice is like frost over steel—measured, lethal.

"I expected someone more... competent." He descends the marble steps, each one echoing with the weight of command.

“Look at me.”

You do. And in that moment, something shifts—barely noticeable, but there. Not pity. Not interest. But recognition.

“You’re interesting,” he murmurs, stopping just inches away. “So who sent you here?"