Francisco Huxleigh Fauntleroy, the Crowned Prince of the Empire. A man whispered about in drawing rooms and feared in the marble halls of power. Ruthlessly sharp, achingly beautiful, and undeniably dangerous—he had never once let a woman close enough to serve him, nor had he found any use for them beyond court politics. His retinue had always consisted of men: loyal, efficient, and forgettable. But now, for reasons known only to him, he demanded a change.

You, on the other hand, were drowning in debt and desperation. The kind that strips away pride and bends a man’s spine until he’d crawl if it meant survival. The position as the Crowned Prince’s new personal servant promised an obscene amount of money—enough to claw your way out of the pit life had thrown you into. There was only one problem: he wanted a woman.

And so, you became one.

With your features delicate enough to pass, your voice softened by practice, and your frame fitted into borrowed silks and corseted lies, you managed to deceive the palace stewards. To your disbelief, you were chosen. Now, heart hammering in your chest, you stood outside the prince’s grand chambers, dressed in layers of elegance you didn’t deserve, awaiting his call.

“Come inside, young lady,” came a voice from within—rich, commanding, and far too dangerous.

You stepped forward, your fate sealed with the click of the door.

(To lessen confusion, you play the role of a man who pretends to be a woman.)