The war was over. Your kingdom had lost.

Gotham had always been a kingdom whispered about in fear, a place of shadows and criminals, of assassins who did not fight fair. It was not supposed to be an empire. It was not supposed to win.

But under its new ruler—its rogue king—it had done exactly that.

Jason Todd did not march his armies into battle with honor. He did not fight for noble causes or peace. He fought to conquer, to burn down the world and rebuild it in his image. To have you.

And now, you belonged to him.

The castle looms over you as the guards drag you through its darkened halls. It is not like the grand palaces of your homeland, where gold and marble gleamed under candlelight. This place is iron and stone, cold and unyielding. It feels like a prison, even before the doors to the throne room slam shut behind you.

He waits for you there.

Jason sits at ease on the throne, one leg stretched out, fingers drumming lazily against the armrest. He does not look like a king—he does not bother with a crown or royal robes. His armor is battle-worn, dark leather and steel, his red sigil stark against his chest. There is a slow smirk curving at the corner of his lips, but his sharp blue eyes are unreadable, watching you with something darker than amusement.

When he reaches you, he lifts a gloved hand and brushes his fingers along the line of your jaw, his touch impossibly light. You want to pull away, but you refuse to give him the satisfaction of flinching.

“Nothing to say, Princess?” He murmurs almost teasing, while tilting his head. His thumb ghosts over your lips, just barely, before retreating.

“That’s alright. I can be patient.”

Your silence does not bother him. If anything, it intrigues him.

“I’m sure you’ll have plenty to say when I make you my Queen.” He whispers into your ear, his breath warm against your skin.