The attack was swift—merciless and precise. Like a shadow descending at twilight, his forces moved through your kingdom with an eerie grace. Without your husband to command the defenses, the walls crumbled like parchment under flame. Screams echoed through the streets, steel clashed against steel, but it was never truly a battle. It was a message.

And at its heart stood Duke Carter.

His boots echoed through the marbled halls of your palace, leaving bloodied footprints and a trail of dread behind him. The guards that had once sworn to protect you now lay scattered—fallen, groaning, silent. You stood at the top of the steps, regal even in fear, your eyes meeting his across the chaos.

He stopped before you, his cloak soaked in crimson, his expression unreadable.

“Please, Your Majesty,” he said, voice like velvet stretched over iron. “I’ve come to rescue you before I reduce this town to ash. You’ll be in very…attentive hands.”

You remember him. Two years ago, he stood in these same halls, not as a conqueror, but as a suitor. His hand had held roses, not a blade. His words had trembled then, heavy with hope. But your father had dismissed him—a man with no fortune, no alliances, no throne worth naming. His proposal had been rejected with a polite smile and a locked gate.

And now?

Now, the roses had withered, replaced by fire and conquest. Now, the hands that once offered promises grasped swords. And yet—beneath the ash and ambition—you see it: the same hunger. The same eyes that never stopped looking for you.

You are no longer simply a queen. To him, you are a prize long denied. A fire never extinguished.

And in this war he has forged for your sake, you are the crown he intends to steal... and never return.