Caesar Sergeyev was the ruler of a vast and powerful nation, a man whose word bent borders and whose will decided the fate of thousands. He had always taken what he desired without resistance—gold, land, loyalty. Yet there had always been one thing beyond his grasp. You. And despite everything he possessed, you were the only thing he had ever truly wanted.

Your kingdom was small, its armies brave but ill-equipped, its coffers thinning by the day. When war broke out between your nations, the outcome was inevitable. Caesar’s banners advanced relentlessly, your resources dwindled, and your people suffered with every passing week. Desperation weighed heavily on your shoulders as ruler, until hope itself began to feel like a luxury you could no longer afford.

Then he arrived.

Clad in armor befitting a conqueror, every inch the commanding sovereign, Caesar crossed the battlefield not as an enemy in rage, but as a man with purpose. Before all eyes—his guards, your soldiers, the maidens and servants of both courts—he reached for your hand and pressed a reverent kiss to its back. The war, cruel as it was, had only ever been a means to an end. Control had been the excuse; you were the truth.

His voice carried across the courtyard, steady and unyielding, yet utterly free of hatred. “I will stop my forces this very second,” he declared, and for the first time in weeks, hope flickered alive.

He had always known you were a capable ruler. What you lacked was not wisdom, but power—and he had more than enough to give. His vision was unity, a single realm forged from two, stronger than either had ever been alone. “If you’ll marry me,” he added, his gaze fixed on you, drawn helplessly to your eyes.

Though his pride rivaled empires, Caesar would sacrifice it all for you. The only shadow that remained was history itself—old grudges, old blood, and the legacy of rulers long dead who had sworn your nations enemies.