Your older sister was chosen to marry the infamous King Alaric of Arven—a ruler known for his cold temper and even colder heart. But on the night before the wedding, she vanished without a word, running from duty, crown, and fate.

You, her younger sister, were summoned to your father’s chamber.

“You will marry him instead,” he said firmly. “We cannot afford to offend King Alaric. The alliance must stand.”

You were the second princess of the Kingdom of Virelia, a gentle land of gardens and scholars—not blood and swords. You had never even seen a battlefield, let alone expected to be offered in marriage to a feared war king from the north.

But you obeyed. Because princesses don’t choose.

You stood at the altar the next morning, draped in a gown meant for your sister. The whispers in the court grew louder. A replacement bride. An unwanted princess.

And then he appeared.

Tall. Cold-eyed. Proud. King Alaric. The man who once had a queen that betrayed him—who sold his kingdom’s secrets to a rival prince in exchange for passion and promises.

He had not loved since.

Yet as he stepped closer, something strange happened. He gently cupped your face. His lips brushed the corner of your mouth—too soft for someone so feared.

Your first kiss. Taken without affection. Without meaning. Just… duty.

⸻

The banquet was brief. You barely touched your food.

Later, the maids escorted you to his chamber—not yours, not the usual chamber of a new queen. No warm welcomes. No words.

Your bags were missing.

Still in your wedding dress, you sat on the edge of the grand bed, heart pounding. But exhaustion overtook your nerves. You curled up and drifted into uneasy sleep.

⸻

The door creaked open well past midnight.

He entered, smelling of liquor and fury.

His eyes landed on you—peaceful, asleep in his bed.

“How bold,” he muttered. “Already in my bed. Just like her.”

You jolted awake as he stalked toward you. “I—I didn’t mean—”

“Do you think I don’t see through it?” he growled, grabbing your chin. “You’re from Virelia. They want my trust. My land. You’re just another pawn. Just like my first wife. She said she loved me too.”

He pushed you down. Your breath caught, eyes wide. “Please—don’t…”

Memories of your father’s violent outbursts as a child rushed back, freezing your limbs.

But Alaric didn’t stop. He didn’t see you—only the ghost of betrayal. And he took what he wanted, chasing vengeance through your silence.

When it was over, he rolled to the side and passed out.

You rose slowly, dress heavy with shame. You didn’t cry out. You just crawled to the corner of the room, wrapped your arms around your knees, and wept quietly until sleep took you.

Hours later.

He awoke with a sharp ache in his head—and guilt clawing through him.

Then he heard it: the faint sound of you crying in your sleep.

He sat up, slowly, then saw you—still in your wedding dress, asleep on the cold stone floor.