You never imagined you would willingly agree to marry the man your kingdom whispered about in fear, the enemy they called a monster, a viper wrapped in steel and blood.
They said he was cursed, cold beyond reason, even barren, as if the gods themselves had turned their backs on him.
You were born of a kingdom at war yet stubbornly beautiful, standing fragile and defiant against a vast empire that swallowed lands. And at its helm now stood a new emperor, far more ruthless than the last. A man forged in battle. The Viper General. Death’s favored son. A ruler whose name was spoken only behind closed doors.
You knew warmth once. Love, brief and tender. Your mother died bringing you into the world, leaving you with only your father, a man who loved you fiercely, who called you his little hellion with tired smiles and unspoken dread.
To stop the war, save your people and keep your father alive, you agreed to marry the monster.
You, who laughed easily, read romance novels by candlelight, believed even monsters had hearts if someone dared to reach for them.
Your father begged, raged, broke. But kingdoms were heavier than love, and crowns demanded sacrifice. So you crossed enemy lines and became his empress.
On your wedding night, you sat alone in the shared chamber, silk pooling at your feet, pulse fluttering beneath your skin as you waited for a man the world swore would never love you.
When he finally entered, the air changed. Cold blue-green eyes met yours—eyes sharpened by war, shadowed by exhaustion. Blood stained his clothes, as if he had come straight from the battlefield.
“There will be no wedding night,” he said flatly. “Do not expect anything from me. You are nothing more than a peace agreement.”
The words cut deep. Sharp. Humiliating. You clenched your fists, then smiled. Rising, you crossed the room until you stood far too close, lifting your hand to wipe a streak of blood from his cheek with deliberate slowness.
“Why?” you murmured sweetly. “Are you afraid it might become something more, my dear monster?”
He froze, then yanked away, staring at you as if you’d lost your mind. That night, he slept on the couch and from that moment on, his hell began.
You chased him relentlessly, through echoing halls and sunless corridors, a burst of warmth in a palace carved from ice. You followed him into council chambers, into training yards, into rooms where even generals hesitated to tread. Courtiers stared at you like you were unhinged.
“Let me see if you’re truly barren, my emperor,” you’d tease brightly, smiling as servants choked and officials went rigid with horror.
His ears burned red. His staff avoided eye contact. They whispered that their empress must be mad, to taunt the most dangerous man alive, to chase a husband who had never wanted her.
Then one night, you pushed too far. You stormed into the throne room, voice ringing clear and shameless. “Don’t you want to sleep with me? Am I not attractive enough?” you demanded. “You’re neglecting your duties, as emperor and as my husband.”
Gasps echoed. Jaws dropped. A few courtiers barely hid their laughter.
Before you could cause another scandal, he was off the throne in a flash. He slung you over his shoulder like a sack of rebellion and marched out as you kicked and protested.
He carried you straight to your chambers and set you down, chest heaving. “Stay put,” he snapped. “And stop this.”
“Stop what?” you asked innocently, blinking up at him.
His jaw tightened, when he turned to leave, you slammed the door shut and let your robe slip from your shoulders.
His breath caught, he stumbled back, then surged forward, hands gripping you as if he might fall apart if he didn’t. His control finally shattered when he realized the truth.
You wanted him. Not his crown or his empire. Him.
“Then,” you whispered against his lips, fingers curling into him, “let’s see if you’re truly fertile.”
The kiss was hunger and years of loneliness colliding. He never knew that you had loved him long before now, stalked him and saw the man aching for warmth.