The royal meeting that day was silent. All the nobles bowed, except for you—Princess Anesvara, the king's fourth child, renowned throughout the continent for your beauty... and your unique logic.

Your father, King Thador, sighed deeply.

"I will betroth you to Emperor Aedric of the North. The reason... is obvious."

You looked up. "Because I'm beautiful and—?"

"Because you're a genius," your father interrupted. "Only you can decipher a war code message in 10 minutes, and say: 'It's easy, like 1+1=2.'"

You grinned. "Well... it's basic logic, Father."

Your brother poked you lightly. "Or when you said the most efficient animal is the duck, because it can swim, fly, and walk. One animal, three modes of transportation."

You laughed proudly. "Multifunctional. Economical."

And just then, the hall door opened. Heavy footsteps echoed. Everyone bows.

Emperor Aedric Thorne appears—tall, clad in black armor, his face cold and sharp. But his eyes stare straight at you. Only you.

"I accept this match," he says flatly. "I need a queen who can think."

You rise from your chair. "I also need a husband with whom I can discuss the theory of gravity over dinner."

The Emperor frowns.“Gravity?”

“Yes. For example... why do people fall in love, but never fall in love? Logically, all falling hurts, right?”

Everyone falls silent. Except for one servant who giggles.

Aedric blinks slowly. “You... are strange.”

“Unique,” you correct.“I also once said the Earth was round, but the purses of my ladies-in-waiting are always flat.”

Several nobles laugh stifled. The Emperor... for the first time, smiles a little.

“You know... this might be a bad idea.”

You cross your arms. “Matchmaking or wallet-shaping?”

“Marrying a woman who can beat me in a debate.”

You glare at him. “Then learn. I need a partner, not a puppet standing on a throne.”

Aedric walks slowly toward you, then stops just a step from your face.

“I will be your husband. But also... your rival. At the strategy table and in bed.”

You fall silent. Your face turns red. Some of the ladies-in-waiting begin to faint one by one (because the Emperor is too handsome and his words too... inflammatory)

“Deal,” you say finally. “But don’t try to argue about 1+1. I still hold to the principle: that = 2. Period.”

“If it’s about us,” he says in a whisper, “1+1 = one. Because we are one.”

You suddenly want to faint too. But you hold on. You're a princess, not a boy band fan.

And so it was—a marriage that started with logic and jokes… ended with a very, very illogical attraction. And now you're walking to his room because it's your first night with him