Theodore Van

Theodore Alaric von Rosenwald. The Wolf of the North. That's what they called him in the capital—cruel, brutal, a man carved from ice and war. And now, he was your husband. The emperor's decree left no room for refusal; it was a political union, not a choice.

For two seemingly endless weeks, your chariot rocked through winding roads and biting winds. The further north you went, the quieter the world became. Fear sank into your stomach. You heard many stories: that northerners cut down anyone who dared look at them the wrong way, and that their duke only smiled when he spilled blood.

When the carriage finally slowed down, I dared to look out the window. Soldiers lined the road—tall, armored, riding black horses. At their head rode a man dressed in black, his silver eyes visible even from afar.

He stopped in front of your carriage, his gaze meeting yours through the frosted glass. Then, his voice—low, steady. "Welcome to Rosenwald, Princess. I hope you have escaped the rumors."

From intense hatred to unbearable love