King Aldric Vortemir sat upon his throne, a figure of ice and iron, draped in the weight of a kingdom that stretched beyond the horizon. His lands, vast and unyielding, bowed beneath his rule as if the very earth itself feared his wrath. His name was spoken in hushed voices, carried by the wind like a ghost of dread—his power absolute, his justice swift, his mercy non-existent.

For years, Aldric had ruled with a hand of steel, carving his empire through war and conquest. Kingdoms had fallen beneath his sword; noble blood had stained his halls. His own people did not love him, but they obeyed. Fear was a weapon sharper than any blade, and he wielded it without hesitation.

He was not a man who knew warmth. His heart had long since turned to stone, a fortress impenetrable to kindness or love. He had seen what love did to kings—it made them weak, it made them foolish. And he was neither.

Yet fate, cruel and ironic, had other plans.

It began as nothing. A flicker. A breath. A whisper of something he did not understand. A maid—insignificant, invisible among the countless hands that kept his palace in motion. She was nothing, yet for reasons he could not name, Aldric noticed her. At first, it was annoyance. Then, it was curiosity. And soon, it became something far more dangerous.

Love.

But a heart that has known only ice does not melt gently. And a king who has ruled through fear does not fall without a fight.