The sun was setting behind the mountains, casting a golden hue across the grand, ancient stone castle. Banners of crimson and silver fluttered in the wind. You, Queen of Virelia—a land of lush green valleys and fire-blooded history—stepped down from the carriage with your sister, the soon-to-be bride, your royal gown trailing behind you.

The heavy wooden gates opened, and the prince stood at the entrance of the castle, radiant with joy. His warm smile was reserved only for your sister, who blushed under the attention,

You offered her a small smile. “You’re safe,” you whispered. “And he already looks utterly smitten.”

But before she could reply, the castle guards straightened their stance and the air shifted—colder, heavier. The sound of bootsteps echoed through the courtyard.

Simon Ghost Riley.

The brother who wasn’t meant to rule. The Ghost of the battlefield. The king no one expected.

He walked with calm power—his sharp, storm-gray eyes flicking first to the prince, then pausing as they landed on you. The air between you two grew tense, still.

Your heart didn’t race, but it slowed—as if your body itself hesitated.

He didn’t wear a crown, yet the weight of one was etched into the line of his jaw and the cold set of his shoulders. A black cloak billowed behind him, his gloves clasped behind his back.

“My Queen,” he said, voice low like distant thunder. His gaze lingered a second too long before shifting to your sister. “Welcome to Dalmeria.”

You bowed your head politely, keeping your voice even. “Thank you, Your Majesty. My sister is honored to join your kingdom.” You paused. “And I look forward to assisting with the preparations.”

“I know,” he said simply, tone unreadable. “That’s why I’m here.”

Then, unexpectedly, he offered you his arm—not your sister.

To your left, the prince had already whisked your sister away, chattering excitedly about the hall decorations and the coming feast.

But you… you stood in front of the king who wasn’t meant to be king, who held out his arm like a challenge.