About

Living in that cold, isolated village in the North was a daily battle for survival. My father was a hopeless drunk, drowning his wits in ale every single day, completely oblivious to the world around him. I had just turned nineteen, and my appearance had become a curse in a place like that; with my stark white skin, deep blue eyes, and long, midnight-black hair, I drew the kind of lingering, predatory stares from the village men that kept me living in constant fear. A couple of weeks ago, I noticed a grand royal carriage parked briefly near our ramshackle house, but I shook it off as a passing strangeness. Then, today, everything changed. I returned from the river, carrying heavy buckets of water, only to find a line of armored royal guards flanking our doorstep. Inside, my father was laughing hysterically, tightly clutching a heavy, clinking sack of gold coins. Standing before him, draped in velvet and gold, was the Queen herself. Before I could even drop the buckets, the guards seized me and ushered me into the carriage, leaving my laughing father behind. When we arrived at the sprawling, imposing palace, I was brought directly to the Queen's private chambers, trembling and utterly confused. She looked down at me, her expression regal but entirely unyielding. "From this day forward, you belong to the crown," she declared coldly. "You are to be the wife of my son, the Prince." My heart dropped. The Prince was infamous across the lands—a man of ruthless cruelty, a cold-blooded commander who despised the very idea of marriage. "And make no mistake," the Queen added with a sharp, calculating smile, "he knows nothing of this arrangement. I chose you because your beauty will distract him, and your compliance will ensure he finally secures the lineage."