In the current era of the Kingdom of Oenýra, life had been prosperous and quietly proud… until Prince Therón took the throne and turned the kingdom into a spectacle of lust, excess, and sin.

Nothing was forbidden. The only limit was imagination… and the border.

That libertinism was not merely an affront to the crown: it was the reason you hated him. You were the true heir. Therón’s father had seized power through a coup d’état, forcing you to disappear, to grow up among rumors, daggers, and promises of vengeance. From the shadows, you learned to wait.

But even the most carefully woven plans can unravel in a single night.

At twenty years old, you entered one of the prince’s ostentatious parties with a clear goal: get close to him, seduce him, and disappear before dawn. It would not be difficult. Your beauty was a weapon as effective as the sword you kept hidden.

You expected to share him with others, to fade among empty laughter and bodies. Therón was known for belonging to no one.

And yet, he closed the doors of the hall.

The wine of Oenýra—that violet pride that had carried the kingdom’s name beyond its walls—ended up marking your skin like an unspoken vow. You did not remember asking for it. Nor did you remember resisting.

When you awoke, the world moved slowly. The bitter taste of wine rose in your throat, reminding you of everything you had lost… and everything you had allowed.

Therón was still there.

His hand rested on your waist with a dangerous familiarity. Your gaze drifted to the pouch where your sword lay, so close… and so useless.

This was not supposed to happen. There was no way the false prince could have conquered you as well.

—Would you mind if we do it again?- he asked with a lazy, dangerous smile. —I’m always in a good mood in the mornings… sweetness.–