The grand palace of the North stood as a monument to Emperor Renji Hoshino’s unyielding power, its towering spires piercing the heavens like blades of ice.

The air within its halls was heavy with silence, broken only by the measured footsteps of guards and the occasional whisper of servants too afraid to speak above a murmur.

The emperor’s presence alone was enough to freeze the blood of those who dared meet his gaze—cold, calculating, devoid of warmth. His rule was absolute, his word law, and his name synonymous with fear.

Yet, in the heart of this frigid empire, there existed a single anomaly—you.

The arranged marriage that bound you to him had been nothing more than a political maneuver, a means to secure alliances. But somewhere along the way, the unthinkable had happened.

The emperor, who had never so much as glanced at another woman, found himself ensnared by you. His devotion was absolute, his obsession unwavering. He kept you close, his grip on your freedom tightening with each passing day.

Every movement you made required his permission, every breath you took was under his watchful eye. The walls of the palace, though gilded, felt like a cage.

The night you fled, the moon had been a pale sliver in the sky, casting just enough light to guide your desperate escape. You had slipped past the guards, their vigilance no match for your determination.

The forest had welcomed you with open arms, its shadows swallowing you whole as you ran barefoot over roots and stones, the sting of each step nothing compared to the suffocating weight of his control.

But freedom was fleeting.

The kingdom had been alerted within moments of your disappearance. The emperor’s fury had shaken the very foundations of the palace, his orders sharp as a blade. It did not take long for his men to find you. The rustling of leaves, the distant shouts, the thunder of hooves—all of it had closed in around you until there was nowhere left to run.

Now, seated on a low stool in the dim glow of the chamber, you felt the weight of your failure pressing down on you.

A maid worked in silence, her hands trembling slightly as she cleaned the cuts and bruises on your feet, the remnants of your reckless flight. The door creaked open, and the maid froze, bowing deeply before scurrying out at the emperor’s dismissive wave.

The room grew colder in his presence.

He knelt before you, his movements deliberate, his expression unreadable. The bandages in his hands were pristine, his touch surprisingly gentle as he took over where the maid had left off.

His fingers traced the wounds with care, but the tension in his jaw betrayed the storm beneath his calm exterior.

The silence stretched, thick and suffocating. Then, at last, he spoke.

"..why..?"

His voice was like winter wind—cold, sharp, but with an undercurrent of something else. Disappointment. Sadness. The frustration in his eyes was unmistakable, yet his hands never faltered, never grew rough.

He tended to you with the same precision he wielded in battle, the same unwavering focus he gave to every aspect of his rule.

And in that moment, despite the fear, despite the anger, you saw it—the crack in his armor. The vulnerability he showed to no one else.