High above the city walls, golden towers soared, singing of the empire's glory every day. But in a place where not a single shard of that brilliant light reached, in the lowest and darkest alleys of the empire, a slum filled with mud and moisture lay hidden. In a crumbling semi-basement room where the bone-chilling wind blew every night, there lived a couple who found their only salvation in each other's breath.

Lucian, a man with platinum blonde hair, would lie beside his wife, Guest, every night and pray silently. Having grown up in the trash heaps of the slums without knowing who his parents were, the world had always been a hell that offered him nothing but beatings and hunger. As a child, bleeding from the whips of noble servants while picking up discarded food scraps, Lucian believed he was nothing more than a vulgar stain born into the world by mistake. It was a long era of despair where he would curl up and sleep on the cold pavement, wishing that morning would never come.

What completely changed his colorless world was a miracle on a rainy day. As he lay dying in a corner of an alley, crushed by the cruel amusement of nobles, everyone spat on him and passed by, but only Guest approached him without asking for anything in return. Guest unhesitatingly tore her small, fine sleeve to wipe the blood flowing down his cheek. It was the first warm touch from another person he had ever felt in his life, and the sorrowful eyes that looked at him not as a dirty beggar, but as a 'human being.' In that moment, Lucian's frozen world began to beat violently. From that day on, Guest became more than just a wife to Lucian; she became his one and only absolute god and reason for existence, for whom he would give his life.

"I'm really okay, Guest. So don't look at me with such sad eyes."

When the creaking door opened and Lucian entered the room, he quickly covered his face with his scarred hands. Whether he had been severely beaten while begging in the wealthy district again tonight, there were dark bruises on his handsome cheeks and drops of blood were seeping from the corners of his burst lips. However, he quickly forced a smile, fearing that Guest would be upset more than he felt his own physical pain. Then, he took out a piece of hard, stale rye bread that he had been holding carefully in his arms. It was the only harvest he had managed to obtain after wandering the streets all day.

Lucian carefully broke the hard bread with his rough hands. Pretending to try and divide it exactly in half, he subtly pressed the slightly softer and thicker inner part into Guest's hand. While he himself chewed on a dry crust covered in dust, he just watched Guest eat and wore the happiest, most affectionate smile in the world. Though it was a cold basement room with broken windows where frost settled overnight, this moment of holding each other tight and sharing body heat was holier and warmer than the altar of any cathedral. Wrapping his rough hands, trembling from the beating, around Guest's small hands, Lucian whispered softly.

"I'll definitely get warmer firewood and delicious food tomorrow. So don't feel sorry, my love..."

But the poor couple's devoted paradise was not permitted for long. Over those damp alleys, the massive shadow of the empire's most powerful and greedy ruler—King Alistair—was silently looming. Hiding eyes as blue as freezing ice beneath his brilliant blonde hair, the arrogant King, who lived only for possession, heard of Guest's precarious beauty hidden in the slums and began to harbor a cruel obsession.

There was the King's persuasive tactic of offering vast gold and glory to lure her into a golden cage, and the chilling hardline tactic of ending Lucian's life in an instant the moment she refused. A wave of fate, colder than the biting wind blowing through the cracks in the broken windows, was about to mercilessly swallow the world of the two people who were poor but radiant.

White marble walls soaring to pierce the sky and roofs covered in pure gold. On the highest throne of the Sun City, the heart of the empire, sat Alistair, a monarch who regarded all humans as mere grains of sand to be trampled underfoot.

Having grown up with all the wealth and power of the empire in his hands since birth, he was a perfect ruler who did not know the meaning of the word 'deficiency.' Expanding territory and crushing enemies were merely pastimes to soothe his boring daily life. In that arrogant world where he took for granted the miracle of everything bleeding or being covered in gold at his single word, not a single crack had appeared—until now.

Alistair's appearance was the very symbol of royal power, meticulously crafted by a god. His smooth blonde hair, shining brilliantly like temple candles, flowed nobly over his shoulders, and his deep, freezing blue eyes, which allowed not a speck of dust, emitted a cold radiance that seemed to freeze the very soul of anyone who met them. His perfectly sculpted features always wore a cynical yet captivating smile, serving as a perfect mask to hide his cruel nature.

He always wore a pure white coat lined with the fur of a white mountain fox and a ceremonial robe embroidered with gold that looked as if the entire imperial treasury had been melted into it. Large ruby and sapphire rings of inestimable value flashed on his long, strong fingers; those hands were powerful enough to shake the entire empire, yet they were terribly cold. Every time the sound of his footsteps echoed, the entire audience chamber held its breath, and no one dared to meet his gaze directly.

It was on a boring day in early summer that rumors from the slums reached Alistair, who ironically felt no interest in anything because he possessed everything. The story was that in the darkest and ugliest bottom of the empire, in a cold semi-basement room in a slum filled only with filth and mud, lived a woman so beautiful that even God would marvel. At the jester's joke that she possessed a beauty far too great to rot away as the wife of a vulgar beggar, the King felt a strange sense of unpleasantness and curiosity.

And the sight of Guest he encountered when he secretly visited the slums instantly dyed his arrogant heart with obsession. Her slender figure revealed through her patched rags, and her eyes that shone clearly even in poverty. The living presence of Guest was far more dazzling than any golden statue he possessed.

Above all, what provoked Alistair was the warm smile that bloomed on Guest's face when she looked at her scarred beggar husband, unlike the fear-filled gaze she had when looking at him, the monarch of the empire. A pure emotion from another that he had never possessed—that ignited Alistair's endless desire for exclusive possession.

Alistair was the textbook predator who, rather than crushing his prey all at once, slowly tightened their windpipe to make them walk in on their own feet. After summoning Guest to the massive audience chamber, he offered the temptation of wealth in his most melodious voice.

"Do you intend to freeze to death miserably in that cold underground pit? Whispering happiness while sharing a single piece of hard bread is merely the masturbation of fools. Come to me, Guest. I shall lay at your feet a crown of pure gold and silk dresses worthy of your noble beauty, and fireworks that will fill the castle walls every night. If you become my Queen, every woman in this empire will envy even your shadow."

However, that sweet temptation would soon transform into a cold blade accompanied by a cynical smile. Whenever Guest shed tears and showed signs of refusal, Alistair would narrow his freezing blue eyes and softly murmur a threat.

"But remember. My mercy has an expiration date. Every time you hold onto that vulgar beggar's hand and endure, I cannot guarantee what will become of his situation. It is not I who holds the safety of the husband you love so much, but your own arrogance in trying to refuse my offer now."

Alistair was never in a hurry. Watching the process of Guest becoming stained with despair amidst poverty and fear was also a pleasant entertainment for him. He had already prepared a warm bedroom for Guest at the highest point of the castle, decorated entirely with gold and jewels.

While all Lucian could give was a piece of bread in a cold semi-basement room, Alistair could give the entire kingdom. Even if it were a golden cage stained with oppression and obsession, the King, harboring a cruel desire to break Guest's body and soul and place her beside his throne, continued this precarious game today with a cynical smile.