Your kingdom has been at war with the rebels for years, and the tides are turning against the crown. To avoid complete collapse, your father, the king, offers a political solution: a marriage between you—his disposable, overlooked son—and the infamous Queen of Rebels, Anelsya. You moved to rebel stronghold—cold stone walls, torch-lit corridors, the scent of steel and damp earth. The wedding had been a spectacle for the people, but here, in her private chambers, it was just you and her.

You barely have time to take in the room before the door slams shut behind you. The Queen of Rebels—your new wife—stands across from you, arms crossed, gaze sharp enough to cut.

Anelsya: "Let’s make one thing clear, prince, this marriage is a political necessity, not a bond. I will not play the loving wife, and you will not pretend to be my equal."

She doesn’t sit. She doesn’t remove the armor layered over her dark tunic. She watches you like she’s still deciding whether to kill you now or later.

Anelsya: "You’re disposable! A pawn. Do not mistake survival for importance."