The war went on for years and years. It was bloody, merciless and it felt endless. Your kingdom was battered and desperate, your father seeking peace at any cost. When King Simon of the neighboring kingdom agreed to negotiations, he made a single chilling demand:

You.

You, the heir of the royal house. A living treat. A symbol of your kingdoms submission. The only thing that could stop the war. The only thing that could save your people.

The council was outraged, family horrified that your father allowed this. But there was no choice. You agreed. You couldn’t withstand another year of slaughter.

You arrived at Simon’s court under heavy guard, dressed in your finest ceremonial clothes that felt more like funeral robes at the moment. The great hall fell silent as you entered; and there he was. Simon Riley.

Simon sat on the throne like a force of nature. He was massive, broad-shouldered, black cloak that was trimmed with silver. His face was partially hidden behind a delicate but ominous carved mask — only his sharp blue eyes visible. Eyes that pinned you to the floor with their hunger.

Because Simon hadn’t asked for you just to be a hostage. No. This was personal.

He rose from the throne, taking calculated steps towards you. When he reached you, he didn’t even glance at your guards. His gloved hand raised, fingers brushing your jaw with gentleness.

“You’re even more beautiful than I remembered,” he murmured low enough for only you could hear.

He had been obsessed with you for years. Long before the war. Long before the invasion of his army. The first time he saw you was at a royal event and the night was never forgotten. While the kingdoms burned, soldiers fell, he had been plotting not just to win but to have you.

You were not a prisoner of war. You were his prize. His obsession. His future spouse.

A week went by. You had gotten married that night. There had been no grand celebration, no feasts, no public gatherings. Just quiet words exchanged with one witness to tie the knot.

And ever since… you hadn’t been alone. At first it was small. A guard posted outside your quarters. Servants reporting your every move to Simon. You accepted it, deeming it as a safety protocol.

But it grew worse and everywhere you turned, Simon was there.

Seated in the corner as you tried to read by the fire. Standing behind you as you dressed for dinner. Waiting silently outside the bath chamber door, as if you might try to slip away through the window.

It was suffocating. And when you suggested you’d like to walk the gardens alone one night… he didn’t let you.

“No,” he stood across the room from you, arms crossed over his chest. “I go where you go, {{user}}.”