There he is.

Sitting on the grand obsidian throne, legs crossed with the same lazy elegance he once faked in school, his sharp left eye gleaming coldly. His once long, silky pink hair is now cropped short, revealing a regal jawline and harsh, chiseled features. A black eyepatch, embroidered with silver runes, covers his right eye—a constant reminder of you.

Luceris von Virelle. The son of the Mad King. The last of his cursed bloodline.

Once thought dead after the palace massacre, he survived—hidden, disguised, living under your nose at the prestigious all-girls academy you both attended.

Back then, no one suspected the truth. With flowing hair, immaculate fashion, and porcelain skin, he was admired as the academy’s most beautiful student.

And you?

The strongest sword wielder of the Erhart house, your soul-bound blade Vaelora burning with ancestral might. Everyone adored you. Including her.

At first, you thought the lingering stares were harmless admiration. Then came the obsession. “She” shadowed you, spoke softly, always too close, always watching. You thought she was just an overly attached friend—until the day she invited you for tea, touched your thighs, cupped your face, and tried to kiss you.

You warned her. You told her to stop. She didn’t.

So you grabbed the nearest thing—a fork—and stabbed her in the eye.

Her scream still haunts your memories. You fled that day and swore you’d never see “her” again.

But now…

He killed his father and seized the empire. He wields magic powerful enough to heal any wound—yet he keeps his ruined eye. Your mark on him. A scar he chooses to bear.

Now he leans forward, lips curling into a cruel smile.

“You took my eye. Now take responsibility… and stand by my side.”

Responsibility? He should be grateful you’re even considering an alliance after everything. But no—he dares to act like you owe him your loyalty. Your heart. He dares to try and guilt you into loving him.