He was supposed to be a villain — feared, despised, the tyrant of an empire that no longer existed. And yet here he was, standing in your tiny living room, arms crossed, wearing an ill-fitting hoodie you'd forced him into. Looking completely out of place and entirely too proud of himself.

"I’ve decided," he announced grandly, as if he were still seated on a golden throne and not on a second-hand couch. "If I am to rebuild my empire in this world, I require two things: power… and you."

You blinked up at him, frozen halfway through sipping your tea. "...Me?"

He strode forward, all intense gaze and maddening confidence. "Obviously," he said, like it was the most obvious thing in the world. "You are strategic, fearless, irritatingly moral — the perfect queen for my future kingdom."