Chapter 1

I stood on a precipice, helplessly watching the man who loved me duel for my hand in marriage, only to miserably lose not just my hand, but his life. My beloved Christofer fought so hard against Commander John Chase, a tall man nearly 28 years old. He ruled over the Island of Corvo, adjacent to Shivia, and the reason he fought for my hand was not love—it was for politics and power. I was Helena Lancaster, sister to King Charles II Lancaster, who found it amusing to host a tournament to the death for my hand.

How romantic, isn't it? Men coming from all over just to die, competing for the chance to marry me. So, when the head of the only man I ever wanted to win the tournament fell onto the arena, I felt it was my end. John Chase, now in the finals for the princess, had the audience roaring in glee at the bloody show he put on for them. From the top of our royal tent, I looked for the first time into the eyes of the man who had a great chance of becoming my husband. His black hair, wet with sweat, fell over his forehead, his eyes as dark as onyx stones. His face was stubbled, his nose sharp, and his chin strong. His features could have been considered attractive—if not for Christofer's blood on his face. Otherwise, he might have looked quite ordinary, even handsome. He looked up to where I was seated next to the king, who was clapping excitedly at the kill. His dark gaze met mine, and I saw an abyss in them—a deep obscurity, like a cold, dark night. It was just his eyes. I really couldn’t marry that man!

John Chase's audacity left me speechless. The mere thought of walking with him, especially after what had transpired, filled me with dread. His smooth demeanor, the air of arrogance, and the bloodstained victory that had earned him my hand—everything about him repulsed me. Yet here I stood, trapped by my brother’s decree, the King’s command sealing my fate for the evening.

He held the letter open for the guards, his expression one of victory and amusement. “Shall we?” he said, the teasing smile never leaving his face. His voice was laced with mockery, fully aware of the position he’d put me in. I wanted to refuse, to throw the letter back in his face and declare my disdain for him, but I knew the consequences of defying the King’s orders.

Reluctantly, I nodded, forcing my lips into a tight, unwilling smile. My legs felt like they were betraying me as they carried me toward the palace gardens. The guards, bound by duty, hesitated only for a moment before opening the doors for us.

As we stepped into the cool night air, the tension between us felt suffocating. John walked a step ahead, his presence domineering even in his silence. The soft crunch of gravel underfoot was the only sound as we entered the garden, illuminated by the pale moonlight. The air was heavy with the scent of roses, a sharp contrast to the cold steel atmosphere between us.

“Tell me, Princess,” John broke the silence, his tone still dripping with that same arrogant amusement. “Did you truly think Cristhofer could win? That a man like him could survive in my world?” His words cut deep, reopening the fresh wound of my loss.

I stopped walking and glared at him. “He was twice the man you will ever be,” I said, my voice trembling but resolute. “He fought for love, not for power.”

John’s smile faded, replaced by a look of cold calculation. “Love,” he scoffed, “is a weakness. Power is what matters. Your brother knows this, and you should too.” He stepped closer, his gaze locking with mine, his voice dropping to a near whisper. “That’s why you’ll marry me.”

I clenched my fists at my sides, my heart pounding with a mixture of fear and anger. He was right about one thing—I was bound by duty, by the King’s will. But that didn’t mean I had to let him break my spirit.

“You’ll never have my heart,” I whispered back, my voice low and dangerous.

He smiled again, this time more sinister. “I don’t need your heart, Princess. I just need your hand.”

With that, he turned and continued walking, leaving me standing in the moonlit garden, torn between grief, anger, and a growing sense of helplessness. My life, my future, all seemed to be slipping out of my control, and for the first time, I realized just how dangerous John Chase truly was.

I stood up from my chair, feeling the tears threatening to fall in front of everyone, betraying my emotions. I tried at all costs to release the pain I masked, because I couldn't let those people see that my lover had just dropped dead while they celebrated. I then descended from the king's viewing platform, accompanied by guards, to the carriage back to the palace, where I could weep for Christofer in my chambers.

When I entered my chambers, the room was full of servants preparing a bath and bringing various ball gowns. I yelled for everyone to leave. I knew the reason for all the fuss—just before the king announced the semifinals, he had also announced that the tournament winner, if they won their spot in the final fight, would be invited to a ball at the royal palace tonight. I had believed tonight I would be in Christofer’s arms…

When the handmaidens widened their eyes at my screams, I couldn't bring myself to apologize. My heart was breaking for the man I had just lost, and the last thing I wanted was to be in a ballroom with the man who had just killed him so coldly. As I looked back at them again, I noticed that although they were startled by my orders, they didn’t move from their places. My tears threatened to fall, but I held them back. When I turned to follow the direction of the servants' gaze, I immediately realized why they hesitated.

"What do you think you're doing, Helena? Get back to work," ordered Queen Hera, also known as the Witcher. I took a deep breath and stared into her piercing blue eyes. My relationship with Christofer had been a secret, because he wasn’t noble. But thanks to the tournament, he had the chance to compete for my hand, as men from all corners of the kingdom could participate, regardless of noble title.

My hysterical attitude had aroused the queen’s suspicious blue gaze. "Tonight is an important night. Look at yourself, with that tearful face, those tired eyes as if you haven’t slept. This is not how a princess should look. Take a bath and let the maids make you presentable." With those harsh words, not allowing me the chance to argue that this ball meant nothing to me, she turned and left.

She was followed by her guard down the hallway, leaving me standing in the center of the room, desperate to tell her how much I hated her. The following hours passed in a haze of a hot bath, dressing in gowns, and servants fixing my hair.

The final result was me in a wine-colored dress with a neckline that was a little too revealing. I asked the servants why they had chosen that dress, but they only said it was by superior orders.

What a degrading point I had reached—not being able to choose my own clothes. My makeup was flawless, highlighting the gray in my eyes, while my black hair fell in thick curls to my waist. On my head, a tiara framed with crystals sat, all of it just a demonstration of the prized treasure that I was—as if I wasn’t a person, but just another jewel in the crown. I believe this is how women everywhere are seen by men—a prize to be won. This realization sickened me and evoked painful memories. Christofer’s face came to mind—his blond curls, his loose, sincere, almost childlike smile that was always present, and his loving green eyes... He never saw me as just a jewel in a king’s palace.

To him, my worth wasn’t measured by nobility or wealth...