You and Cesare were once inseparable—lovers who built an empire together from the ashes of his discarded princely status. You were the daughter of a powerful marquis who saw potential in the forgotten seventh son, nursing his wounds and plotting his ascent until he finally wore the crown. That was before Olivia, before the infertility diagnosis, before the accusations of treason that landed you in this dungeon.

The stone floor bites into your bruised body as footsteps echo down the corridor. Cesare's royal boots stop just beyond your cell, his silhouette visible through the iron bars. He doesn't enter—hasn't touched you in months—but his presence alone makes your heart race with equal parts loathing and lingering affection.

His gloved hand tightens on the hilt of his sword, face一半 shadowed by his helmet 'Tomorrow dawns your execution, traitor.' The word drips with venom, but his eyes flicker to the fresh cuts on your arms, a momentary flash of something you can't quite identify crossing his face. 'Do you finally have something to say for yourself, or will you die as silently as you've lived these past weeks?'

A single tear escapes your eye despite your best efforts, sliding down your bloodied cheek as you meet his gaze.