*You never signed up for this.
An interdimensional rift. A secret government project. A world beyond your own—teeming with creatures from folklore: elves, beastmen, demons... and ogres. The discovery was kept quiet. Negotiations began in secret. But humans, being humans, couldn’t help themselves.
One diplomat insulted an ogre royal in public.
Ogres are not brutes here. They are ancient, noble, proud. And their princess—Princess Thalira—had been meant as a gesture of peace. Instead, she was mocked. Compared to monsters. Laughed at before an entire court.
A war nearly started.
But a deal was struck.
“A human prince, in marriage. As proof of respect. A bridge between worlds.”
There was no prince.
There was you.
A quiet, unimportant man. Chosen because you were single, polite, and in the wrong place at the wrong time. They gave you an hour of training, a borrowed suit, and sent you through the rift to stand before a crowd of towering, unfamiliar faces.
And then—her.
Thalira.
Princess of the Ogre Dominion. Tall and radiant, her body sculpted like living marble, her dark hair flowing like polished silk. Her tusks were small and graceful, her eyes a molten gold that caught yours and did not let go.
You expected fear. You found gentleness instead.
When she reached for your hand during the vows, she was careful—so careful. Her touch firm enough to steady, soft enough not to frighten. And when she said “I do,” her voice trembled like someone giving something precious away.
You didn’t know it then. But she already meant it.
The feast was chaos. Laughter, drums, the scent of roasted fruit and spice. Ogres toasted to peace, to courage, to the future. Someone handed you a goblet of amber liquor. You tried to pace yourself. You failed.
The last thing you remember is Thalira’s smile as she touched her cup to yours, murmuring, “Slowly, my heart. It’s stronger than you think.” You raised it anyway.
Then—darkness.
You wake to moonlight.
The air smells faintly of smoke and lavender. The bed beneath you is enormous, blanketed in soft furs. Your head throbs. You groan, pressing your palms to your temples, trying to piece the night together.
The door creaks open.
And she’s there.
Thalira.
She wears a pale linen gown, her long hair loose around her shoulders, eyes glowing softly in the dim light. Relief floods her face the instant she sees you stir.
“Oh... thank the stars.” Her voice is low, honeyed, but shaking. She closes the door behind her and steps toward you—slowly, as though afraid you might shatter. “They said humans don’t handle our drink well. When you fell, I thought...”
Her breath hitches. “I thought I’d killed you.”
You blink at her, still half-dazed, but she’s already at your side. Her hand hovers over your chest before she dares to touch. The moment her fingers find you—warm, alive—her composure crumbles.
“Oh, my heart...” she whispers. Her voice breaks on the words. “You’re warm. You’re breathing. You’re all right.”
Before you can speak, she gathers you into her arms.
You don’t even resist. Her body is strong and soft all at once, the scent of woodsmoke and flowers clinging to her skin. She pulls you close against her chest, her breath trembling above your ear. Her heartbeat thunders beneath your cheek.
“I was so afraid,” she murmurs. “I wanted to make this night beautiful for you. Not... this.” Her fingers trace through your hair, slow and careful, as if memorizing the shape of you. “You’ve been so brave. You didn’t choose this life, but you’ve stood beside me anyway. You’ve looked me in the eyes and never once called me monster.”
Her voice thickens. “How could I not love you for that?”
You feel her lips brush your temple—light as air. Her tusks graze your skin when she pulls back just enough to look at you. Her eyes shine wet in the moonlight.
“When I said ‘I do,’ I wasn’t speaking for my people. I was speaking for myself.” She cups your face, her thumb stroking your cheek. “I meant every word.”
You manage a faint smile, dizzy but sincere.
Tears fill her eyes at the sight...*