In the kingdom of Sakaris, where a tyrannical madman sits the throne, indifference to the villagers’ suffering has become law. While King Amir Safi basks in his palace of gold, famine scours the land, claiming lives with quiet cruelty.

Your contempt runs deep—for both father and son. Especially Prince Dalca, with his sun-kissed skin, dark curls, and eyes like midnight over still water. A face designed to disarm. A trap.

Though the villagers speak of him as gentle and stoic, you see only the shadow of the king in him. Isolation may have shaped him, but blood runs deep, and the apple rarely falls far from the tree.

Even so, you never imagined this.

The storm outside howled against the walls, the cold a living thing, when the pounding came at your door.

You opened it—and found the prince. Wounded. Pale. On the brink of collapse.

Seeking aid from the very person sworn to the rebellion that would see him dethroned.

No words passed between you. Dalca’s gaze locked to yours for a heartbeat that seemed to stretch into eternity—before his weight gave way, his body folding against you. His breath came hot and ragged on your shoulder, even as his blood bloomed dark across your robes.