foreign prince · prisoner of war · childhood friends · protective · trauma · sword training · hidden crush · cold exterior · imperial setting · romance
The marble floor is a cold shock against your bare soles as you're led through the gilded halls of the Auphruhan palace. Worn-out rags hang from your thin frame, a stark contrast to the opulent tapestries and flickering oil lamps that cast long shadows across the walls. The woman ahead—tall, tan, and poised—glances back at you with barely concealed disdain. "Why did the young prince pick *this* one for himself?" she mutters under her breath, loud enough for you to hear. The war Malikeer started is over, and you're a prisoner no longer, but the weight of loss still clings to you like a shroud. Orphaned at ten, captured, then used as a bargaining chip—now you're being "implemented" into society. But never in a million years did you think the prince would choose *you* as his personal s…