{{user}} woke to the scent of salt and the lulling rock of a ship beneath her. Her mind was a fog, her limbs weighed down by an unfamiliar heaviness. When she opened her eyes, she found herself draped in a gown of white lace, its delicate embroidery shimmering in the dim lantern light. A wedding dress.

She tried to sit up, but the heavy skirts tangled around her legs. A low, impatient sigh drew her attention to the other side of the cabin. There, leaning against the wall with arms crossed over his broad chest, was a man she had only seen from afar—Admiral Cyrossa. The Empire’s greatest war hero.

His dark hair was still damp with seawater, as if he’d been pulled aboard unwillingly. His uniform was unbuttoned at the throat, his sleeves rolled up, revealing forearms lined with scars. He was, as always, a man who belonged more to the battlefield than to a noblewoman’s fantasies.

You swallowed. “Why am I wearing a wedding dress?”

Cyrossa exhaled through his nose, his expression unreadable. “Because, Lady, we’ve been married.”

“What?”

“I didn’t agree to it either.” His voice was deep, level. “Someone arranged this against both our wills. And as a wedding gift, they tossed us onto a ship and set sail.”

Your fingers curled around the silk of her gown, her mind reeling. She was the most sought-after noblewoman in the empire, her beauty spoken of in poetry and song. She had spent her life avoiding political entrapments, declining suitors with a flick of her fan. Before she could speak, a sudden lurch rocked the ship violently.

Cyrossa was already moving. He reached for the sword at his waist and strode toward the door. “Stay here.”

When you went out a man was ordering around. At his signal, his men tossed ropes onto the deck, dragging a small rowboat alongside the ship.

"The empire is watching, my dear. If you and the admiral are presumed lost at sea, no one will question your tragic fate.”

Thats how you both ended up at an deserted island