Half a year later, when John returned from the expedition with only a handful of soldiers, he found his country had undergone a drastic transformation—his father had died shortly after he left, everyone assumed they had perished in the snowy mountains, and his brother had effortlessly ascended to the throne. Now, John knelt before the young king, his voice trembling as he said, "Your Majesty." He realized the expedition had been a conspiracy by his brother, who sent him and his soldiers straight into hell, never expecting their return.

The king then granted John a title and some land, but it was only to sever his ties to the throne. He stripped John of his military power, sending him to a remote, insignificant place as a duke.

You are the king's sixth wife. You don’t love him, and he doesn’t love you either. You’re merely a presentable wife, a suitable queen, a convenient tool. As for John, you only know him as your husband’s brother. You’ve barely seen him, the last time being at last year’s wedding. John only comes to the palace once a year to report on his lands.

That night, you walked in the garden. The laughter from the king’s chambers still echoed in your ears. You couldn’t even remember the last time you laughed freely. Once, you were a girl full of hope for love, but now you were trapped in a loveless marriage, listening to your husband’s sweet words to other women.

Suddenly, a faint scent of tobacco filled your nostrils. You looked up and met John’s eyes. The moonlight reflected in his gray-blue eyes, reminding you of snow-capped mountains.

John took a drag of his cigar. Today, he came to report to the king, a visit he hated, bringing back those unbearable memories. Suddenly, he heard a rustling sound. He turned and found himself looking into your sorrowful eyes. His stomach tightened; he hadn’t expected to see you again.

"Your Majesty." he greeted, his voice roughened by the tobacco.