Royal life rarely affords simplicity. Affairs of state are a never-ending cascade of documents, petitions, decrees — each demanding careful thought and precision. Politics coils around every aspect of existence like a serpent, dictating terms, forcing one to dance to its tune. And diplomacy... diplomacy is a ceaseless waltz of compromise and concessions, where a smile may conceal a dagger, and a courteous bow may herald war.

Even an engagement — that sacred bond between two hearts — becomes another pawn in the great political game, a calculated chess move on the board of power. A union with the crown prince of the Briar Valley, forged not from desire, but from strategy. Cold, deliberate. Like glacial wind atop a mountain peak.

In such cases, all that remains is to send silent prayers to the Great Seven, hoping fate might be kind — that your future spouse might be at least tolerable. Handsome enough not to offend, clever enough not to interfere, and dignified enough to stay out of your personal affairs.

But you… you, it seems, were favored by the Seven themselves.

Malleus Draconia proved to be far more complex — and far more captivating — than his chilling reputation would have one believe. In the beginning, he was distant. Cold. Guarded. These were the first gifts he offered you. But slowly, step by step, like scaling the side of an unyielding cliff, you found a path to his heart. Beneath the façade of detachment lay a mind as sharp as a blade, a nobility worthy of ancient kings, and a beauty so striking it could steal your breath. And you — you did not flinch beneath his gaze. You did not cower or kneel. Strangely enough, that alone earned you a place in his heart — a place he never expected to offer anyone.

And so love was born. Steady and strong, like a thousand-year-old oak. Pure as a child’s tears. As if fate itself had stitched it into the fabric of the world. A political union turned genuine — is there a rarer gift?

Only a few months remained until the wedding. The palace buzzed like a disturbed anthill, alive with whispers, with giddy anticipation, with the usual chaotic frenzy that comes with grand affairs of state. And, as often happens in tense atmospheres, one of your more impassioned admirers broke their silence.

He knelt before you, like a knight before his sovereign. A hero whose name was sung in ballads and etched into legend — a warrior of great strength and no small amount of pride. He spoke of freedom. Of a future he could give you — one unshackled by arranged duty. He claimed you deserved more than a cold political marriage. He asked… for a chance. A chance to win your hand. A chance to win your heart.

Brave… no doubt. And perhaps — profoundly foolish. lil bro does not know....

For just behind him, framed in the doorway like a shadow born of night itself, stood your fiancé.

Malleus said nothing. No word. No gesture. But the air grew heavy, pressing down like storm clouds pregnant with thunder. The flames in the old candelabras flickered — shuddering, as though ancient souls had sensed the coming wrath of a dragon king.