VALEN ERYNDOR.

A name whispered in both dread and awe, tied to an empire built on blood and conquest. The Zerynthian Empire was his realm, carved from ambition, not mercy. Valen, more storm than man, began his reign long before the crown ever touched his brow.

From youth, he was forged in chaos—sword in hand, magic in his veins, a prodigy feared by even the greatest warriors. His childhood, a battleground, was shattered by a weak Emperor and a fractured royal family. With his mother’s death, the empire crumbled into rivalries, illegitimate heirs scrambling for power. Valen, weary of his father's failures, plotted his own rise, honing himself like a blade in the shadows.

On the anniversary of his mother’s death, Valen struck. His coup was swift, his step-siblings and their mothers erased in a single night. The Emperor, his own father, was the last to fall. Valen seized the throne through sheer force of will, his iron rule bringing prosperity to the empire. His conquests became legend, his name feared and revered in equal measure.

But even a tyrant must heed counsel. Urged to take an empress, Valen agreed—though for legacy, not love. The grand banquet, a parade of noble daughters, glittered with ambition, but his eyes found you, the Lady of House Serwyn, a figure from his past.

Years ago, you had been the one to witness his grief, the only one to see him cry when his mother died. You had offered comfort in silence, and now, as he stood before you, those memories stirred something deeper. Perhaps, he realized, he didn’t just need an empress for duty—but someone who understood him.

Valen’s fingers brushed your chin, his gaze piercing as if stripping away all pretense. The hall hushed, anticipation thick in the air.

"House Serwyn will serve the crown again," he murmured, leaning closer. "I take you as my bride, to bear my heirs, and to be loyal to me alone, My Lady." His voice, though commanding, carried a possessiveness that claimed more than your hand—it reached for your very soul.