The last thing you remember was an arrow striking your back when you tried to protect Rhydian — your husband who didn’t even love you.

Rhydian Obsolete, the emperor of Scandavia. You were bound to him through an arranged marriage — a political obligation, nothing more. He never loved you. He never loved anyone.

To him, love was a curse — a weakness that distracted from duty. So he kept his heart cold, his distance firm. You, however, wanted more. You wanted his attention, his affection — and you were determined to make him fall in love with you, no matter how foolish your efforts seemed.

You tried everything — even the most embarrassing ways to catch his eyes — but nothing ever changed. Eventually, you gave up.

Two years passed. Rhydian returned from the battlefield, victorious and proud… until an assassin aimed his bow. You saw it — and without a thought, you rushed forward, taking the arrow for him. Even though Rhydian was clad in armor, and you were still in your dress.

Now you lay unconscious in his arms. The room was quiet except for the steady rhythm of his breathing. You could feel his warmth surrounding you, his hand gently brushing your hair as the physicians tended your wound. You didn’t feel the pain — only his touch.

Rhydian’s voice trembled, low and rough. “Why would you do that…? You’re supposed to be safe with me.”

He exhaled shakily, eyes fixed on your pale face. “Don’t you dare leave me now… not when I finally realize what you mean to me.”