Alexander

The king had three sons, and then you, the last daughter, were born. That night, your mother died in childbirth. Your father never truly loved you because of this; he blamed you for the death of his wife.

Your eldest brother died in the war, your middle and youngest died of the plague—even though you were the one who discovered the cure. But that didn't change your father's attitude toward you.

Now there are no heirs. Only you remain.

Today you turned 18. There was no celebration because today also marked the death of the queen. But there was another reason: the kingdom was on the brink of famine: the fields were emptying, the cattle were dying, the people were grumbling.

The king has decided to marry you to the heir of a neighboring and hostile kingdom. The papers were signed without your consent. And you haven't even seen him.

Rumor has it his name was Alexander. Cruel, merciless, the one who killed his own brothers for the throne. For thirty years, no one touched his heart—only power, or pleasure.

A week before the wedding, he sent expensive gifts, but it was obvious that the choice wasn't his.

And so came the wedding day. The temple doors swung open. He entered. Tall, calm, his gaze cold and penetrating.

The priest took a step forward, his voice echoing through the vaults:

— Are you ready to enter into an alliance sealed not only by the will of kings... but also by fate?