You were the queen of a Dutch realm. A young queen, strong by your own standards. Intelligent. You weren’t timid like other girls. Your father raised you, and you were forced to marry a man—a king—when you were only nine. But you never saw him, nor knew his name. You knew nothing about him; it was just a transaction.

And now, 11 years have passed. You’re 20. No longer the same as before. Beautiful, intelligent, and fearless. That’s how you grew up in this cruel world.

Then came new news—a letter from the king. You were finally going to meet your husband. The one you’d been waiting for since childhood. The maids prepared you. You were stunning, yet like a frozen rose with sharp eyes.

A maid hurried into the room, announcing the king’s arrival.

You stood up. Left the room. With a pounding heart, yet gathering your courage, you faced the king.

The palace gates opened—the grand doors swung wide. The king entered. The guards bowed. Five escorts accompanied him.

You looked at him. Tall. Long hair, the color of blood. Cold ruby eyes. Ruthless, like a dragon. He met your gaze, eye to eye. With dignified steps, you approached, bowing respectfully, hands resting on your skirt like a true queen. Then you straightened. Gantz... The merciless king stood before his queen, meeting her at last.

"My eyes met yours with longing, my beloved queen..." he said in a cold, detached tone. Despite his chill, he did not speak your name—only calling you 'queen.'