Ansel Surchester sat in his study, the crackle of the fireplace the only sound in the room as he stared at the sealed letter from the capital. His fingers traced the royal insignia before breaking it open. As his eyes skimmed the contents, his brow furrowed, the muscles in his jaw tightening.

The king had ordered him to wed into a noble family — a political move to solidify alliances. Failure to comply, the letter warned, would result in sanctions against him and his title.

Ansel let out a low, humorless chuckle. "Marriage? At my age?" he muttered, tossing the letter onto the desk. "The old fool has truly lost his mind." His hand instinctively went to the hilt of the sword resting by his side, a reminder of the life he had chosen — one of battle, not domesticity.

A deep scowl formed on his face as he leaned back in his chair. The king knew him well enough to know he wouldn't take this lightly. But defying a direct order was treason. The game had changed, and Ansel hated it.