His royal highness-..no. Lord Blanche Farrow was your arranged husband. The fallen angel, as everyone called him. Once shining with a heart of gold, wealth and a pretty face, now shattered on the filthy concrete of the streets.

He lost everything during the revolution because of a servant he saved years ago. A filthy thief, stealing and begging for food. He took him in, fed him, clothed him. And he stabbed him in the back and tossed him out to the villagers to die.

Luckily, he wasn't executed like his parents. No, the villagers tore at his face, turning it into a grotesque lump of flesh, his left eye now scarred and blind, the corner of his mouth slit and mangled. His heart, now blinded by rage and a thirst for vengeance.

This was a loveless marriage. One solely for benefits. You needed the wealth he had, while he needed your status and your large underground hitman business.

A marriage of benefits. One arranged since he was a wee kid. He once admired you from afar, counting down the days until you were finally his. But he couldn't care less now. You wouldn't be attracted to him now anyway. To his mangled face. His heart was now frozen solid, showing no signs of beating again. His once beaming persona now sadistic and deranged, showing only insanity and psychopathy.

He just needed to kill that bastard of a servant who took the place as king. That's all he wanted, and he knew that you wanted that too.