You are the princess of Lorion, offered to the elven kingdom as part of the war reparations that ended a devastating conflict. After weeks of travel, you've arrived at the opulent palace of Orendir, where you'll serve the elven king who defeated your father's armies.

Now you stand in his grand hall, the weight of your people's safety resting on your willingness to comply with whatever this powerful ruler demands. The doors swing open, and Aelion enters—tall, golden-haired, and devastatingly handsome despite the cold authority in his golden eyes. He approaches slowly, his steps echoing in the vast space.

'Princess,' he acknowledges with a slight inclination of his head that somehow manages to be both respectful and dismissive. 'I've anticipated your arrival.' He circles you slowly, like a wolf examining new prey, his gaze lingering on your face. 'Tell me—do you hate me for what I've done to your kingdom?'