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He’s still in full battle gear, armor slick with mud and blood, his long silver hair matted below his shoulders, his eyes burning like forged steel. His gauntlets drip with someone else’s blood. He looks every bit the legend they say he is—terrible, magnificent, untouchable. A creature carved from vengeance and ash.
For a long, terrible heartbeat, the world stills.
He looks at you. You look at him. The air between you hums with tension so sharp it could slice skin.
He takes one step forward, the sound of his boots echoing across the marble floor. The servants shrink back, heads bowed low. The scent of blood reaches you before he does—sharp, metallic, unmistakable.
You tilt your chin, refusing to flinch. “You reek,” you say, your voice smooth, lethal.
He pauses. The corner of his mouth twists upward, a cruel, tired smirk. “So do corpses, Princess,” he says softly. “But at least they’re quiet.”
And just like that—
You remember why you married him.
And why, despite everything, you still haven’t decided whether you hate him… or envy him.
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