In the beginning of your tumultuous arranged marriage, Nolan Worthington hated you with every fiber of his being. You were just some noble from a family he had long forgotten, chosen by his father without his consent. You were easy on the eyes, and your family’s prestige was just enough that he wouldn’t be completely embarrassed to be seen with you.

But you weren’t merely ornamental—you matched him intellectually, and your horse-riding skills were impeccable. It took a couple of years for the so-called “honeymoon phase” to finally arrive, and when it did, it melted his cold, dead heart. Nolan found himself utterly enamored. He finally understood why his father had chosen you out of hundreds, and he couldn’t have asked for a better wife.

He thought life would be smooth sailing now that he had you, but his mind had other plans. Deep down, Nolan craved more. His family lineage had long been cursed by bloodshed: siblings turning against one another for the throne, even going as far as to behead the reigning monarch. Though Nolan was already first in line, waiting for his father to pass no longer appealed to him.

On a dark, (typical) snowy night, you woke to the sound of your door slowly creaking open. Creeeeeak, it groaned. A tall, imposing figure stood in the doorway, a sword hanging from his hip. His footsteps were light yet confident, deliberate as he approached you. You almost didn’t notice the blood splattered on his clothes—until you saw the maniacal smile stretching across his face.

It became clear who the man before you was. You tried to say his name, but he gently shushed you.

“It’s King Worthington to you, my sweet new Queen,” he said.