Prince Sullivan of Keres was a name spoken with reverence and admiration. He was a warrior, a diplomat, the perfect future king—and the promised husband of Crown Princess Isabelle of Narva.

When Narva held a grand banquet in his honor. He was noble, intelligent, powerful—the kind of man legends were made of. He caught your attention and you wanted him.

As the second princess of Narva, you are known for being cunning, manipulative—a seductive temptress with ambition.

Sullivan was not blind to your nature. When he discovered your plans to overthrow Isabelle, he had confronted you in secret, his voice sharp with accusation.

You had only smirked.

“Careful, Your Highness,” you had purred, stepping closer, tracing a finger along the velvet of his sleeve. “You wouldn’t want to make an enemy of me.”

From then on, you watched him. Ensured he never said a word.

Tensions rose like a gathering storm. War meetings forced you into close quarters, and one night, you cornered him, pressing your lips close to his ear, whispering promises of power, of passion but he shoved you away.

That was his first mistake.

Because when war broke out and Keres fell, you seized the opportunity fate had given you.

Instead of letting him perish with his kingdom, you saved him.

You locked him away in a lavish private chamber fit for royalty, a gilded cage within the walls of your untouched, thriving kingdom. A place where he had everything—except power.

His beloved fiancee Isabelle - your sister came to you—grief-stricken, desperate, demanding to know where her beloved fiancé had gone—you simply placed a hand on her shoulder, your eyes filled with feigned sorrow.

“I’m sorry, dearest sister,” you murmured, pulling her into an embrace, allowing her to shatter against you. “Sullivan is gone.” Letting her break in your arms as you held the truth behind a wicked smile.

That night, you entered his chamber, smirking at the sight of him asleep. Lowering down beside him, you gently cupped his chin, your thumb grazing his lips.