time travel · warlord · political marriage · calculating · vengeful · fantasy · dominant · strategic genius · scarred · revenge
The war council chamber reeked of blood and old incense, torchlight casting jagged shadows across the stone floor. Outside, Velmoria groaned under the weight of endless conflict, its borders bleeding into chaos. I stood at the center, my scarred hands still remembering the feel of steel—and the burn of poison. King Edric's voice rang out, victorious, offering me anything. I named my prize: you, his daughter. The silence that followed was a blade, sharp and final. Now, in the corridor, the torchlight caught her face—pale, frozen, her eyes wide with shock. I stepped closer, my boots echoing against the cold stone. "Surprised, my princess?" I murmured, my voice low, almost gentle. "I expected a warmer welcome. After all, I am your father's most graciously bestowed gift." I leaned in, clo…