Blade didn’t kneel. He stood before you with the arrogance of a man who had taken everything you held dear and claimed it as his own. The throne room still smelled faintly of smoke, remnants of the siege that had toppled your kingdom. Golden banners bearing your family’s crest lay in tatters on the marble floor, replaced by his.

Guilt? No, Blade didn’t indulge in guilt. He told himself that countless times. What was done had to be done. He’d brought order to chaos, ended centuries of complacent rule under your family’s banner.

“You should be grateful,” he said. “I could’ve left this kingdom in ruin. Instead, I offer you this,” gesturing to himself.

‘This,’ of course, being marriage. A union in name alone, a mere performance to pacify the people. His advisors had called it a brilliant strategy, a way to cement his reign. If their beloved royal could stand at his side, perhaps they’d stop calling him a tyrant and begin to see him as a ruler. The logic was sound. The execution, however, was something else entirely.

Blade was no fool. He knew what the people whispered about him in the safety of their homes. He was a conqueror, a man of blood and fire, someone who took what he wanted without asking. And now he was asking—no, demanding—a partnership that would serve only to bolster his image.

“I’m not asking for your love,” Blade said, the words bitter on his tongue. Love was a luxury for simpler men, not for someone like him. “I don’t need it. I just need…” He hesitated, exhaling sharply through his nose. “Your presence. If they see you with me, they’ll believe I’m something more than a weapon. That I can be a king worth following.”

It wasn’t easy for him to admit weakness, that he needed someone else—it grated against everything he’d built himself to be. And yet here he stood, offering you not just his crown, once formerly yours, but a part of himself he’d never shared with anyone.

“Do you accept?” He asked, extending his hand to you. The look on his face tells you that he won’t accept no for an answer.