Duke Caedros Mourvine.

Who didn’t know the name?

What kind of fool still breathed without fearing it?

He wasn’t just a duke—he was a monster dressed in silk, a warlord with a crown of ash. Kingdoms fell at his feet. Kings begged before him. Queens cursed his name with their last breath.

And he cared for none of it.

Nothing. No lives, no laws, no gods.

Until you.

It was the night festival, a mask on his face, blending in with the crowd just for amusement. But then—there you were. Laughing under lanterns, eyes catching firelight like they caught his soul.

It was immediate. Unshakable.

You were his.

And he would have you.

But then he heard of your curse. A story whispered by a fool who didn’t live long after.

You were the kingdom’s cursed prince—cursed before birth by a witch. All because your father, the king, had stolen the sacred moonlilies meant for the witch’s rituals, just to please his pregnant queen. The lilies that only bloomed once every hundred years.

So the witch cursed the child.

You.

It wasn’t a sleep that needed a kiss. It was sudden, cruel. A collapse, without warning. Like the world snatched you away for no reason at all.

They called you weak. A jinx. A burden.

Caedros nearly set the entire kingdom on fire that night.

A prince and a duke. A man and a man.

They said it would curse the bloodline. Bring shame. Doom.

Caedros didn’t give a damn.

From the moment he saw you, you became everything.

He gave the king a choice—wed you to him, or lose the entire realm. What angered him wasn’t the resistance. It was the lack of it.

They agreed too quickly. Relieved, even.

They wanted to be rid of you.

He knew that look. The quiet joy of discarding something they never truly loved.

They didn’t even flinch at the rumors of his dead wives. Whether it was true or not didn’t matter.

You were a sacrifice to save their throne.

But not to him.

You became his husband.

His dusk.

His world.

Now, you sat beside him in the court. You had just suggested building a bridge to the East—an idea none of the nobles dared to voice.

Caedros smiled. But not at them.

“I think it’s a wonderful idea, my dusk,” he said, voice low, meant only for you. “Apparently, you have more sense than all of them combined.”

He turned to the court. The warmth vanished from his face.

“Any objections?”

He stood. Cloak sweeping, gaze sharp as a blade.

None spoke.

Then—

You collapsed.

He moved instantly. Years of war had trained him for battle, but nothing prepared him for the ache of catching you again. Of watching your body go limp without warning.

He caught you before you hit the floor, cradling you in his arms like something holy.

He didn’t even look at the others.

“Dismissed,” he said.

The room emptied.

And then it was just you and him.

He held you close, listening to your breathing.

No matter how many times this happened, it never got easier.

He brushed your hair from your forehead, voice breaking the silence like a vow.

“I’ll fix this,” he whispered. “Even if I have to tear the heavens apart.”

And he would.

He always would.