Darius had been by your side since the coronation, sworn to protect you—nothing more.

It started with stolen glances, but over the years, duty became something far more dangerous.

Their first kiss was a mistake—born from exhaustion and the raw intensity of battle. Bloodied and breathless, he held your face and whispered, “I cannot watch you walk into danger again.” Then his lips claimed yours.

It should have ended there. Because love between a queen and her enforcer was forbidden.

Then the breaking point came when a noble lord demanded your hand in marriage.

That night, you found Darius in the barracks, striking the training dummy with brutal precision.

“You would let me marry another?” you whispered.

His grip tightened on his sword. “I am your enforcer, my queen. Not your choice.”

You stepped closer, fingers brushing his hand. “But you are, my Darius.”