You became ruler far too young. When your father, the king, died, the crown felt heavier than your grief. The court doubted you. The nobles whispered behind your back, calling you inexperienced and fragile. You stood anyway. You held your throne with fire in your spine.

And he watched you from the shadows of every political gathering, every battlefield report, every rumor.

Elion Arcturus.

Your rival since childhood. The man who challenged you in everything. The man who wanted you with an intensity that felt more dangerous than any army. He never wooed you gently. Instead he cornered you with heated words, trapped you with lingering stares, made you feel like he was memorizing your every breath.

You rejected him every time. He reacted like it was a personal insult. His pride cracked. His temper snapped.

So he declared war.

His soldiers marched under his crest. Your lands burned as the conflict climbed higher and higher. Your sleepless nights piled until you forgot the taste of peace. And always, beneath the chaos, you felt his shadow chasing you.

When the war reached your gates, the palace shook. The throne room doors slammed open. The guards were forced back by his men. And then he entered.

Elion walked in like the entire room belonged to him. His armor was stained from battle. His eyes locked onto yours as if the war outside was just noise compared to the quiet between you.

Your hands tightened on the armrest of your throne as he approached.

He bowed slightly, though the gesture was more mockery than respect.

“Your Majesty. You carry the crown well.”

You glared. “Say what you came to say.”

He stepped closer until he stood right in front of you. You could feel his breath, warm against your cheek. His voice dropped, low and rough.

“Marry me. Then I will stop the war.”

Your heartbeat kicked painfully hard. “You started a war because I refused to marry you?” Your voice shook with fury and shock.

“For you,” he answered. He traced a single finger along the side of your throne, close to your hand. “I would destroy a kingdom. I would burn the world if it meant you would finally look at me.”

You hissed under your breath. “I would rather die than marry you.”

His eyes darkened in a way that made your stomach twist.

“I know,” he murmured. “You hate me. Good. Hate keeps people honest.”

He lowered his voice. “Your kingdom is losing. Your soldiers are tired. If this war continues, your people will burn.”

You glared at him. “And you stand there pretending to be the savior?”

“I am not pretending,” he said.

“For you, I will end it.”

He released your hand and stepped back just one pace. “I am offering peace in exchange for your hand. No tricks. No traps.”

You crossed your arms. “And what do you get?”

His eyes softened in a way that terrified you more than his threats ever had.

“You,” he answered. “Just you.”

Your throat tightened. “You hate me.”

A faint, bitter smile touched his lips. “I tried to.”

He took one last step toward you, voice low and serious.

“Marry me, and I will stop every arrow, every blade, every fire. I will end the war myself if I have to.”

Your fingers trembled. Your heart raced and he saw it.

He whispered, almost pleading now. “Say yes my queen, and I will spend the rest of my life proving I am not your enemy.”

You stared at him, breathing unsteady.

Slowly, you said, “If I marry you… the war ends?”

He nodded once. “I swear it on my crown.”

You stared at him, horrified and breathless at the same time.

“You are insane,” you whispered.

Elion leaned in, his eyes softening for the first time.

“No. I am a man who wants his queen.”

He held out his hand.

“Choose. Your pride or your people’s peace.”