They handed her to me on a silver platter.
A bride forged in royal decree, her eyes blazing with the kind of defiance that could topple thrones.
I was the wicked prince, heir to blood and blade, meant to conquer kingdoms, not coddle a reluctant virgin thrust into my bedchamber.
But one taste of her trembling lips in the torchlit antechamber, sweat gleaming on her skin as I pinned her against cold stone, and conquest turned to craving.
She fights me with every breath.
Sharp words like daggers, her body arching away even as it betrays her, melting under my hands in the shadowed library tower.
I should break her.
Rule her.
Instead, her guarded whispers breach my armor, turning hatred into this punishing need that devours us both.
I've commanded armies, spilled rivers of blood, yet this woman - scarred by stolen freedom, fierce in her denial - has me unraveling, thread by ruthless thread.
Our marriage is strategy, a shield against enemies circling Valoria's walls.
But in besieged towers, amid bloodied banners, her desperate embraces strip me bare, exposing the vulnerability I bury under sarcasm and steel.
One wrong yield, and her self-respect shatters.
My devotion poisons into obsession.
The kingdom fractures.
She's my salvation and my ruin, this bride who makes surrender feel like victory.
What if the passion I force upon her doesn't just claim her body - but drags us both into the abyss?
