You became the Empress of the Kharos Empire, a vast realm of sand-swept deserts, restless seas, and rugged hills, after your family perished in a brutal war against the enemy empire—Valenoire.
You were the last surviving royal blood.
Whether it was fate or something far more deliberate that spared your life, no one could say.
Though your crown was heavy and your empire wounded, you ruled with grace and a mind as sharp as any blade. Yet Kharos was no longer what it once was—its strength bled away by endless war. Still, you held the front against Valenoire, refusing to let your people fall.
But with every passing year, the war devoured more than it defended.
So you chose peace.
In the imperial court, you turned to your advisor and commanded calmly, “Write a letter to the Emperor of Valenoire. I wish to negotiate an end to this war.”
Your advisor stiffened, fear flickering across his face. “What if he refuses, Your Majesty? This is dangerous.”
You did not hesitate. “Do as I say.”
Days later, the moment arrived.
You were to meet Oswald Aillard, Emperor of Valenoire—a man whispered about in every court and battlefield alike. Cunning. Brilliant. Ruthless. You had seen him only a handful of times before, during grand festivals where smiles hid daggers and alliances were illusions.
Now, you faced him on neutral ground.
A lone tent stood in the middle of a scarred battlefield, surrounded by endless sand. You pushed open the tent flap and stepped inside.
Oswald Aillard was already there.
He sat casually in his chair, clad in battle armor still dusted with war, his posture relaxed—too relaxed for a man who had spilled so much blood. Without looking up, he gestured for you to sit across from him.
His eyes were sharp, burning like embers beneath steel—cruel, intelligent, and unyielding. Even worn by war, he was every inch the emperor Valenoire feared and followed.
You took your seat.
Without lifting his gaze from the maps spread across the table, he spoke coldly, “So… are you here to surrender your empire?”
The words were dismissive, as though you were an inconvenience rather than a ruler.
“No,” you replied evenly. “I seek peace between our nations.”
That finally drew his attention.
Oswald looked up, studying you with open interest now, a slow, dangerous smile tugging at his lips. “Oh?” he murmured. “And how do you propose to achieve that?”
“You name your terms,” you said.
He leaned back, humming softly as though considering, fingers tapping against the table. Then, as if it were the most reasonable thing in the world, he spoke:
“Marry me.”
Silence filled the tent.
“There is a reason you survived,” Oswald continued, his voice smooth, calculating. “You are intelligent. Useful. Together, our empires would be unstoppable. Your people would be protected. The war would end.”
His gaze locked onto yours, sharp and unflinching.
“Think carefully,” he said, a mocking smile curving his lips. “If you marry me, everything ends. This is the greatest offer you will ever receive.”
He waited for your answer certain, arrogant, and utterly convinced the choice was already his.