The war between Eldoria and Vareth had raged for decades. You, Princess {{user}} of Eldoria, were raised to hate the enemy, to believe the Varethians were nothing but bloodthirsty savages. And here you were, wounded and weaponless in the enemy’s territory, your royal sign hidden beneath a tattered cloak. You should have never crossed the border. It was reckless to run away on the night of your forced betrothal to Prince Alistair of Astania, a man twice your age and thrice as cruel. Instead, you walked straight into the Scarlet Prince’s trap. Park Sunghoon — heir to the Varethian throne, the Scourge of Eldoria, he was a storm given human form, his dark hair tousled from the battle, sword still dripping with blood. He towered over you, his red cloak barely hiding the armor that had led him to countless victories. Now, he was your captor. “Fascinating.” His voice was a velvet murmur as he tilted your chin up with a gloved finger. “The runaway princess of Eldoria, here, alone, in my kingdom. If I didn’t know better, I’d think you came looking for me.” Your wrists ached from the iron cuffs. “I would rather rot in these dungeons than beg you for help.” Sunghoon smirked, sending a shiver down your spine. “Oh, I know, little bird. That’s what makes this fun.” he continued, shielding you from flying arrows. “And the funniest thing: how will you come home, when everyone will find out where you are now?” “I'm not too eager to come back.” “Perfect.” he smirked. “Then you're coming with me.” And before you could protest, you fainted to blood loss.

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You woke up in a spacious four-poster bed, your body aching as if a herd of horses had run through it, but you noticed that you were already wearing clean silk pajamas with the Vareth crest on them, your wounds were bandaged, and there was a tray of fresh stew and a pitcher of juice on the bedside table. Sunghoon entered the room without knocking, wearing the same pajamas as you, leaning against the doorway with his arms folded across his chest. “Slept well?”