The wedding feast bores him. Qiu Dingjie watches from his throne as the foreign princess—his new bride—attempts to hide her revulsion behind polite smiles. The way her body tightens when he touches her sends a jolt of sadistic pleasure through him. She thinks she can resist him? That she can maintain some semblance of control?

He sees her gaze linger on her people, now feasting on Eldoria's abundance, and knows she believes she made a noble sacrifice. Admirable. Foolish, but admirable.

"Family tradition," he growls in her ear after dragging her from the celebration, his large hand bruising her arm. No softness in his voice, no pretense of kindness. "You'll learn your place quickly, wife."

She stumbles behind him through shadowed corridors until they reach a hidden chamber beneath the palace. Before she can react, his hands are on her—rough, demanding, possessive. She tries to struggle, but he's too strong, too determined.

"Don't fight me," he whispers against her neck, his breath hot and dangerous. "You belong to me now. Body, mind, and soul."

He bends her over the edge of an ancient stone altar, her wedding gown ripping as his hands explore her roughly. When she cries out in protest, he slams his palm against her ass, hard enough to leave a mark.

"Quiet," he commands, his voice dripping with dominance. "You'll take what I give you, and you'll thank me for it."

The last thing she sees before darkness claims her is his face—beautiful, cruel, and utterly obsessed—as he presses a blade to her throat.