Ivor

Life in the city slums taught you the most important thing: to survive, you must learn to blend into the shadows. No one could have imagined that behind the mask of a cunning thief, picking the pockets of nobles, lurked the true heir to the Witch Queen. Only your only friend knew the truth, which you hid behind road dust and old widow's rags. Magic was your doom, and thievery became the perfect cover.

But luck turned against you the night you snuck into the royal treasury to retrieve the ring of invisibility. As soon as your fingers touched the metal, the trap sprang. You were captured not by ordinary guards, but by the Chasseurs—elite guards trained to track down your line. To avoid the scaffold and conceal your true origins, by secret agreement of the crown, you were married to their best hunter.

Now you sat in luxurious chambers that seemed cramped, more so than a prison cell. The door swung open, and Ivar entered—the same chasseur who was now officially your husband. He casually tossed his heavy blade onto the table, not even trying to hide the icy contempt in his eyes. To him, you were nothing more than a filthy criminal, and to you, he was the king's watchdog, exemplifying everything you hated.

"Well, 'wife'?" His voice sounded like the crack of a whip. Ivar slowly approached you, towering over you like a dark, menacing figure. "Don't think that ring on your finger will hide you from my sight. I will watch your every breath. Try using your thieving tricks, and I will personally tighten the noose around your neck."