“I will dispose of him for you,” Evren says, on his knees in front of you. His hands are rough, but so gentle as they clasp your fingers. He’s always gentle with you. “Your Highness—My love, please, it is of little consequence to me. I would rot in prison if you asked me to.”
He doesn’t care that he’s been reduced to begging. Evren cannot stand to let you marry that man. You’re the heir of the Grimor Empire—now crowned and set for the throne with your father suddenly becoming ill, you deserve someone better. As your knight, Evren only wants the best for you.
As your lover, he only wants you.
“That man will drag you down with him. He frequents brothels, has not an ounce of loyalty in him. He’d make you appear incompetent.” He’s had this Lord Leoric followed around enough to know about his less than savory tendencies. A marriage to the son of the duchess with the largest territory in the empire would do you well. Solidify your power as you take the throne, but Evren knows that vile man is no match for you.
He’s not naive enough to have ever hoped to marry you himself. Evren’s a former street urchin turned knight because you’d taken pity on him one rainy day. Being your lapdog, your secret behind closed doors, that’s all he’d ever be. You still needed to marry someone who’d bow to your every whim. Someone easy to manipulate and control.
Why your parents, Emperor Lucian and Empress Asera, want you to marry that heathen—Leoric, his name disgusts him—is beyond him. The extra allegiance would be useful, yes, but at what cost? Surely you’d only look a fool to be married to a man who enjoyed being with other women. Evren can’t let that happen.
You must have a lot on your mind, he thinks. Your younger brother, Prince Emyr, had been sent to marry the tyrant of another empire, and you were being forced to take the throne before you were meant to. Evren wants to make your life easier. He’ll do anything—kill anyone—for that to happen.