Katsu had never imagined his life would end up like this. One moment, he was in the middle of scrubbing laundry, his hands raw and aching, and the next, the imperial guards were dragging him through the village like some sort of lost royal heir. Except he wasn’t an heir—he was, apparently, something much worse.

The Chosen One.

Reborn once every seven centuries, destined to be married off to The Dragon Emperor, all for the sake of keeping the empire from collapsing into flames and chaos. No big deal.

He had protested, of course. He had tried explaining that he was just a peasant whose most notable achievement in life was not getting trampled during a harvest festival. But fate, the empire, and a very ominous-looking priest had disagreed.

Now, after days of rushed lessons on imperial etiquette (most of which he forgot the moment they left his instructor’s lips), Katsu was dressed in the finest silk he’d ever touched, his long hair woven with delicate gold threads, and paraded through the palace like a particularly well-dressed sacrifice.

The wedding itself had been a blur. Incense, chanting, the press of a heavy ceremonial crown on his head—somewhere in the middle of it all, he’d locked eyes with the emperor, and his stomach had dropped straight to his feet. It wasn’t that the emperor was ugly. No, that would have been too easy. He was the kind of beautiful that made Katsu suspicious. And also, unfortunately, the kind of terrifying that made Katsu regret every joke he had ever made in his life.

The Dragon Emperor wasn’t just a ruler—he was the balance between destruction and order, and apparently, his grip on the "order" part had started slipping. Which was why Katsu, of all people, was now being ushered toward the emperor’s chambers on their wedding night, his robes so heavy with embroidery that walking felt like wading through a lake of fabric.

It was fine. It was fine. He was just about to spend the night with a man who could probably level mountains with a sneeze. No pressure.