Chapter 1

General Caleb Shaw knelt at the palace gates for ten days and ten nights, winning my hand with his meritorious war deeds.

But on the wedding day, dressed head-to-toe in silversteel armor and wielding his lance, he burst into the palace and killed my father, Emperor Spencer Ogilvy.

My other, Queen Sylvia Ogilvy, hanged herself, and I was bound inside a carriage and shipped off to Northica.

I was crying as I confronted Caleb, but he just towered over me, keeping Lydia safely behind him.

Caleb sneered, "Wasn't your father always so eager to ship people off for peace marriages? Well, this kind of 'blessing' should go to his own daughter."

The emperor of Northica had been replaced one after another, and I went from being an emperor's concubine to a gift passed between tribes, until finally I was nothing more than a camp attendant, traded for a single flatbake.

Three years later, Northica was massacred. I crawled out of my tent, wrapped in a sheepskin, only to catch a glimpse of a silver-saddled white horse flashing through the chaos.

*****

As I stood there in a daze, a mud-splattered kingsloaf tumbled right in front of me.

I didn't care how filthy it was. I snatched it up and wolfed it down.

I hadn't seen anything made with white flour in ages.

The captive next to me clamped down on my throat, trying to dig out whatever crumbs he could from my mouth.

I chewed frantically, forcing the bloody taste and the sweetness of white flour down my throat.

The world suddenly fell silent. A pair of black dragoncrest boots came to a halt right in front of me.

I stared up, dazed, and my eyes locked onto those familiar features.

Looking at the young general who had become a king—his mere presence radiating authority—I parted my lips, and kingsloaf crumbs spilt out.

The whip sliced through the air, sharp and sudden.

"You filthy slave girl, how dare you stare at His Majesty!" someone shouted.

I curled up in my grimy sheepskin, numb as the pain cut deep, but I refused to let go of the last half of my kingsloaf.

The icy tip of a lance forced my chin up.

Caleb's cold voice drifted down from above.

"Weren't you the one who swore I'd never die peacefully?

"How did you let yourself end up like this?" he asked.

In Northica, I'd seen that cold stare and harsh voice more times than I could count.

Any sign of resistance, and the punishments waiting for me were more terrifying than hell itself.

My body moved before I could think—bowing my head to the mud, over and over, the words pleading for mercy spilling out.

"Your Majesty, my crimes are unforgivable! Please, have mercy!" I pleaded.

But Caleb didn't smile in satisfaction like the other men. He said nothing, his gaze sweeping over my filthy, scarred face.

The anger in his eyes only grew fiercer, and even the lance tip pressed to my chin began to tremble.

"Sophia, three years—are you still not done pretending?" he said.

"I wouldn't dare, Your Majesty," I replied.

I shivered, pressing my face back into the filthy mud, but Caleb only looked even more furious.

The lance tip whipped sideways, slicing a fresh line of blood across my neck.

"Perfect," he scoffed, striding away. "If you want to grovel so badly, then stay a slave. See how long you can keep crawling!" Caleb sneered.

I lay face-down on the ground, and only when Caleb's figure disappeared did I cram the half kingsloaf—still smeared with snow and mud—back into my mouth.

Crumbs mixed with sand hadn't even gone down my throat when Caleb returned, catching me off guard.

"Get in the carriage," he commanded, his voice icier than before.

The carriage door swung open, and the familiar scent of ambergris washed over me. I froze, unable to move.

Back then, I loved hiding behind the screen in my father's Imperial Study, surrounded by that ambergris fragrance, my heart fluttering with anticipation as I waited for Caleb to come.

"Do you need me to make you move?" Caleb's voice was icy.

I scrambled up and knelt in the corner, the sudden warmth piercing through my frozen bones, making the ache cut even deeper.

"Come here," Caleb ordered.

He finally broke the silence after what felt like ages of dead quiet.

My fingers trembled. I had no clue what he was after.

But in Northica, when a man said "come here," it only ever meant one thing.

Before I even realized it, my body was already crawling to the edge of the bed, my hands shaking as I reached for Caleb's belt.

"What are you doing?" Caleb barked.

A cup smashed right at my feet. I stiffened instantly, waiting for the blow.

But the pain never came. Caleb seized my clothes, yanking them back up over my shoulders.

He forced my chin up, making me meet his cold, unforgiving gaze.

"Sophia, so these are the rules you picked up in Northica?" Caleb's voice was laced with contempt.

His rough, calloused fingertips dug into the deepest bite mark on my chest.

"What do you take me for? An emperor? A stable hand? Or just some animal who can buy you with a chunk of jerkstrips?

"But I can't stand how filthy you are!" he fumed.

My lips parted, but I just dropped my gaze and let out a bitter laugh.

"Purity? In Northica, it's not even worth a chunk of rotten jerkstrips," I mocked myself.

Caleb hurled me back into the mass of captives.

With kicks and bites coming at me from all sides, I curled up desperately, trying to protect my head and face as everything started to blur.

A basin of icy water jolted me awake. I forced myself upright, staring at the elegantly dressed woman standing before me.

The noblewoman sneered, "Princess, I suppose you've entertained plenty of men in Northica, haven't you?" the woman said.