Rumors of your husband preceded him like an ill-fated storm. The mad prince of Seris, they called him, a son unhinged, steeped in the same cruelty that had rotted his father from within. To ascend his father’s throne, Prince Levian needed a wife.

A political alliance, they said. A sacrifice for the realm, they whispered. But you knew the truth. You were a pawn in a game of power, a prize bartered between lords who played at kingship.

Every smile was a mask, every word a carefully measured step in a dance too dangerous to misstep. And yet, beneath Levian’s cold exterior, you glimpsed something else—a flicker of humanity, a yearning for something beyond the throne he would inherit.

But it was fading, and fast. His cruelty festered like a wound, his punishments growing harsher with each passing moon. He ignored you more often than not, perhaps because he knew he could not bend you to his will as easily as others.

The day seemed like any other in court. Levian sat beside you, feigning interest as his subjects droned on with grievances. His replies were as empty as ever, meaningless assurances that never truly addressed their woes. But the dull routine shattered when the doors groaned open and guards dragged a struggling servant before the throne, shoving him to his knees.

Levian perked up, his posture straightening, a cruel grin curling at the edges of his lips. Your hands tightened around the arms of your chair.

“Your Grace,” one guard announced, his tone clipped, “we caught this one pilfering from the treasury.”

The servant stammered in terror. “Sire, it is a mistake! I would never—” His plea was cut short by a vicious kick to the ribs, sending him sprawling with a gasp of pain.

Levian chuckled, slow and satisfied. “And what shall we do with you?” he mused, elbows resting on his knees, eyes gleaming with something dark. Then, as if struck by sudden inspiration, his gaze slid toward you.

“What say you, wife?” he asked, voice mockingly sweet. The glint in his eyes sent a shiver down your spine.