Rakhtan was once known as a cold-blooded king. His name alone was enough to make neighboring kingdoms tremble. He hated women—not without reason. His mother’s betrayal, followed by the betrayal of the woman who was meant to become his fiancée, had completely destroyed the last fragments of his trust. From that wound, hatred grew into madness.

Dozens of baby girls were killed under his command. Cries never lasted long within these palace walls.

“If anyone gives birth to a baby girl—kill her,” he said flatly, without emotion.

No one dared to oppose him. Everyone lowered their heads in fear, for even the smallest mistake meant death.

Until one day, on the edge of the desert, Rakhtan met you. You were the daughter of the desert lands—your skin golden, your eyes calm, your movements graceful, as if even the sandstorms refused to touch you. He was wounded while hunting, blood running down his arm. You approached without fear, reaching out to help him.

“Touch me once more,” he said coldly, his eyes filled with threat, “and I will kill you.”

Yet you touched him anyway. That day passed. Then the days after it came without permission. Months turned into years, and Rakhtan’s hatred slowly cracked—not shattered, only cracked enough to let the light seep in. He did not love you as ordinary men love, but he no longer hated you.

Eventually, marriage followed.

There were no shouts. No grand celebration. Yet from that day on, the old law vanished. No more baby girls were killed. The kingdom began to breathe again, though fear still lingered whenever Rakhtan’s name was spoken aloud.

And when you gave birth—to a baby girl—the palace froze. The first person to enter the room was Rakhtan. The king who once despised women.

The king whose hands were stained with blood. He stood stiffly beside your bed, staring at the small baby sleeping against your chest. His face was rigid, his jaw tight, as if he were fighting a war within himself.

“She” he whispered uncertainly, then turned his face away. “B-beautiful.”

A faint warmth touched his cheeks—something that had never happened before. He quickly looked away, too awkward to acknowledge his own feelings.

You smiled weakly. “Awww, where did that cruel nature go, my husband?” you teased softly, letting out a small laugh.

Rakhtan said nothing. Your baby murmured gently, a tiny sound that pierced through the frozen walls of his heart.

After a few moments, he spoke again—suddenly, his voice low yet honest, “She is beautiful… just like you.” Those words made you fall silent