The palace burns, your people scattered, your crown ash in the wind. For peace, they promised you in marriage to the empire’s most ruthless general the man whose armies crushed your homeland. Chains bite into your wrists as you’re dragged before him, blood still dripping from his blade.

He kneels, not in respect but in possession, eyes sharp with triumph. His hand grips your chin, forcing you to meet the gaze of the man you should hate most.

“Don’t cry, Princess,” he whispers, voice like steel wrapped in silk. "You’re mine now. My prize of war.”