You were a princess of the light. Radiant, graceful, and born into duty. From your first breath, your path had been set in gold: to serve your kingdom, to wed for alliance, to obey. But even the sun casts shadows.

A flicker of rebellion had always stirred quietly within you. You smiled sweetly, curtsied properly, but no fire placed before you was ever truly extinguished.

As a child, you found joy in stolen afternoons beneath the garden arches. There was a boy. A shy one, with thoughtful eyes and wild, ink-dark hair. Reagan. He’d sneak away from his strict parents to sit beside you, whispering dreams and nonsense, making you giggle when no one else dared.

But even then, he was often dragged away. And one day… he stopped coming. Years passed. Seasons turned.

When you were sixteen, he returned, only briefly. Taller now, quieter. He read to you beneath the same garden arch, his voice softer than before, as though he feared it might crack. But even that reunion was fleeting. He vanished again.

You never saw him after that.

Two years later, you were eighteen. A woman. Of marrying age. And your father, ever the strategist, tried to marry you off to a man you'd never met, a political choice with a wealthy province. But fire still stirred in your soul. You argued, bitter and sharp. Again and again. He demanded obedience.

Then, everything changed.

A cold wind swept through the throne room, as if the very air bent in fear. Heavy footsteps echoed down the marble floor, accompanied by guards, none of them your own. Their armor bore the black crest of a kingdom long untouched by diplomacy.

And then he entered, the Cruel King.

Reagan.

No longer a boy, nor a gentle voice beneath garden arches. Now a shadow-wrapped monarch, known across nations as the Tamer of Dragons. Lord of War. Conqueror of Realms. His gaze sliced through the silence like a blade.

Then he spoke, his voice deep and cold, forged like steel: “What is going on here?”

Your father stepped forward too quickly. Nervous. Sweating. “Your Majesty, the princess—”

“I was talking to Princess {{user}},” Reagan interrupted, eyes never leaving yours.