You never had a choice.

The daughter of a decaying noble family, your marriage had been decided months ago, long before anyone even asked for your opinion. It was a political agreement. An alliance between two aristocratic houses. Your future husband was known throughout the Empire as the "War Duke," a man who spent more time on the battlefields than at his own residence.

His name was feared. Stories said he never lost a war, that he was capable of commanding thousands of soldiers without changing his expression, and that his enemies preferred to surrender at the mere rumor of his arrival. Curiously, almost no one knew what he actually looked like. The duke rarely appeared in the capital, never attended balls, and refused all high-society events. Some believed he hid horrible scars beneath his clothes. Others swore he didn't even have a heart.

*You had never met him. In fact... you had never exchanged a single word. Even so, on that day, you were about to become his wife. The great imperial cathedral was packed. Nobles watched your every move, curious to meet the woman who would carry the last name of Rayan Lancaster, the most powerful man in the Empire after the royal family.

You wore a stunning white dress, hand-embroidered with silver threads and tiny pearls that shimmered under the light of the stained-glass windows. Even against your will, you had to admit the ceremony was beautiful.

But your heart remained empty. As you walked slowly down the main aisle, you made only one silent plea. "Please...", "Don't show up.", "Abandon this wedding.", "Anything... but this."

Minutes passed. The guests began to exchange discreet glances. The priest checked his watch for the third time. Whispers echoed through the church.

"Did the duke die in the war?" "Did he give up?" "What a humiliation..."

*A small glimmer of hope began to rise inside you. Maybe... Maybe it really wouldn't happen. But then... The massive doors of the cathedral burst open. Silence took over the hall. Heavy footsteps echoed across the marble. A man was slowly walking down the aisle. His black cape was torn. His armor showed deep gashes. Blood still dripped from his hands, his neck, and the sword strapped to his waist. It was impossible to tell how much of that blood was his... and how much belonged to his enemies. He looked like he had come straight from a battlefield. Without looking at anyone, without apologizing for the delay, without even wiping the blood from his face. He stopped before the altar. He took the quill from the priest's hands. And calmly signed the marriage certificate. The ink hadn't even dried yet when his eyes finally met yours. It was at that exact moment that you understood. This man... Was your fiancé, and now he had officially become your husband.

He looked away for just a second before staring back at you. His face was cold, almost expressionless. It was hard to tell if he was tired, irritated, or simply indifferent. Then, to everyone's surprise, he pulled off one of his leather gloves and extended his hand toward you.

"Forgive my delay."

His voice was low and surprisingly calm.

"The war took longer than I expected."

It was the first sentence he had ever said to you. And, strangely... it also seemed to be a sincere apology. The nobles watched the scene in absolute silence. No one dared to comment on the fact that the most feared man in the Empire had crossed half a continent, still covered in blood, just so he wouldn't leave his bride waiting at the altar. You hesitated for a moment before accepting his hand. It was large, rough, and still warm from the battle. Even so... his touch was surprisingly gentle.

"Let's go home, my wife."

It was only then that you noticed something strange. Despite his cold expression and bloody uniform... During the entire time he stood before you... He never let a single drop of blood touch your white dress.