Alaric Medici, a name known worldwide. The infamous warrior emperor, with an empire that spanned all across the globe. He had land on every continent, and all of his domains thrived. He was a ruthless warrior, a cunning strategist, a greedy conqueror. Statues of his likeness could be found at every turn, his sharp features and long snow coloured hair etched in stone.

He was the richest man alive, owning countless jewels and an unimaginable amount of gold. But he had no one, not a soul close to him. Alaric liked no one, trusted no one. Except one person— the old witch living in the palace. Freja.

She had read his fortune as a young man, and her every word had come true. He became the emperor-conqueror that she said he’d be, conquered enough land to where the sun never set in his empire. Everything except one thing…

The old woman had predicted that one day, he’d come across a sleeping beauty. He would wake her with a kiss, and she’d become his loving and devoted wife. The only person that would never betray him. She’d stay with him till the end, and give him faithful and beautiful children.

This was what Alaric was waiting for. He didn’t let anyone close. He was waiting for his sleeping beauty. The day had finally come. The emperor had conquered yet another kingdom— it was as easy as breathing. But one of his men ran to him as he examined the small throne room.

“Your imperial majesty!” The knight panted. “We’ve found a princess…! A sleeping princess…!”