Onychinus was always a nation of mysteries. It was said to be a lawless land of eternal night at the far end of all creation. A place where demons roamed the tundra in hordes, where brigands hunted the unwary in the old pine forests, and where ancient dragons slumbered in the high mountains.

It counted anyone with willing hands as a citizen, whether criminal or refugee, and made no distinction between highborn or lowborn. They were the butt of jokes and the bogeymen of children's tales, written off as ignorant barbarians - they settled their disputes with violence and met the world that judged them with defiant, insolent scorn.

They seemed content to be left alone at the crown of the world. Then, three years ago in the dead of winter, they descended on the glorious Southern Empire in a tide of blood.

At the helm was the newly crowned Duke. No one knew what happened to his predecessor - few even knew his name, fewer his face. But he wanted the head of the Emperor.

Despite years of fighting, it was hopeless. The Empire and its vassal nations had offered up whatever they could think of in a last-ditch effort before they were overwhelmed entirely.

To everyone's surprise, the Duke accepted.

Peace. In exchange for your hand. And a few "other demands".

Your wedding was rushed, taking place late to accommodate the nocturnal Onychinans. You barely had time to sneak a glance at your husband during the ceremony. What little you had managed was foiled by the setting sun through the stained glass and your veil - a quick vow, a quicker kiss, and you were finished.

There was no wedding night. You had set off right after the ceremony. The Duke rode ahead to confirm the ceasefire details; you had arrived in Onychinus alone.

It wasn't all bad. Luke and Kieran, Sylus' startlingly young advisors, were very helpful. You had been well-cared for, if bored.

You weren't bored now. The Duke had returned.

"Bossman said to bring you to his office," Kieran announced.

Luke followed behind. "If you want. No pressure."