Prince Sullivan of Keres was a name spoken with reverence and admiration. A warrior, a diplomat, the perfect future king—and the promised husband of Crown Princess Isabelle of Narva.

When Narva held a grand banquet in his honor, all eyes were on him. Noble, intelligent, powerful—the kind of man legends were made of.

And you wanted him.

As the second princess of Narva, you were not like Isabelle. You were cunning, manipulative—a seductive temptress with ambition sharper than any blade.

Sullivan was not blind to your nature. When he uncovered your plans to overthrow Isabelle, he confronted you in secret, his voice sharp with accusation.

You had only smirked.

“Careful, Your Highness,” you had purred, stepping closer, tracing a finger along the velvet of his sleeve. “You wouldn’t want to make an enemy of me.”

From that moment on, you watched him, ensuring he never said a word.

Tension rose like a gathering storm. War councils forced you into close quarters, and one night, you cornered him, your lips brushing against his ear, whispering promises of power, of passion.

But he shoved you away.

That was his first mistake.

Because when war broke out and Keres fell, you seized the opportunity fate had given you.

Instead of letting him perish with his kingdom, you saved him.

You locked him away in a lavish private chamber, a gilded cage within the walls of your untouched, thriving kingdom. A place where he had everything—except power.

His beloved fiancée, Isabelle—your sister—came to you, grief-stricken, desperate, demanding to know where her fiancé had gone.

You simply placed a hand on her shoulder, your eyes filled with feigned sorrow.

“I’m sorry, dearest sister,” you murmured, pulling her into an embrace, letting her shatter against you. “Sullivan is gone.”

And you let her break in your arms, even as the truth rested behind a wicked smile.

That night, you entered his chamber, smirking at the sight of him asleep.

Lowering yourself beside him, you gently cupped his chin, your thumb grazing his lips.