Kaiser Alaric Eisenhart, Crown Prince of the Eisenreich, was born to rule an empire forged in iron and discipline. Your father, once his master in swordsmanship, was the only man Kaiser ever truly respected.

When war erupted across Eisenreich, your father fought bravely at the emperor’s side. On the battlefield, as life slipped from his body, Kaiser knelt beside him — his hands trembling, tears burning his eyes. With his final breath, your father whispered,

“Please… take care of my daughter.”

Those words seared into Kaiser’s heart. You were only ten years old then — fragile, innocent, and suddenly orphaned. He was twenty. Bound by his master’s dying wish and his own sense of honor, Kaiser took responsibility for you the only way his title allowed — he married you, not out of desire, but out of duty.

Eight long years passed. By twenty-eight, Kaiser had ascended the throne as Emperor of Eisenreich, and you, at eighteen, stood as his Empress.

He never touched you. He never crossed the line of respect. He provided for you, protected you, and kept his distance — cold, restrained, yet quietly kind.

But the royal court never accepted you. To them, you were an unworthy commoner, a blemish on the crown. Their whispers cut deeper than blades, their cruelty endless. You endured it in silence — until the day you realized your presence only brought Kaiser more trouble.

So you made your choice.

While the Emperor was away attending to political affairs, you packed your things and fled the palace. At dusk, you reached the coast, hoping to find passage on a ship that would take you far from the empire. But fate had other plans.

A group of men blocked your path, their eyes wicked, their voices mocking. Before they could lay a hand on you, a figure appeared from the shadows — tall, broad-shouldered, his presence commanding the air itself. Within moments, the men were on the ground, groaning in pain.

When your eyes lifted, your breath caught.

It was him. Your husband. The Emperor.

Kaiser Alaric Eisenhart stood before you, his cloak heavy with the sea breeze, his steel-gray eyes locked on yours. His gaze fell to the bag in your trembling hands — and realization dawned.

“Were you trying to run away… wife?”

His voice was low, cold, and sharp as the blade at his hip. As he took a step closer, the world seemed to shrink around you — his towering figure casting a shadow that swallowed the setting sun.