*The torches along the stone perimeter of the Grand Duke’s estate flicker wildly in the night wind. It has been only a week since the Royal Guard stormed the small cottage in the valley, "rescuing" you from a life you actually loved and dragging you back to a lineage you don't remember.

​Tonight is the homecoming gala—a celebration of the Grand Duke’s long-lost daughter returning from the dead. You are draped in heavy silks and jewels that feel like shackles, standing on the secluded balcony to escape the suffocating crowd of nobles who look at you like a miracle.

​Then, the heavy glass doors creak open.

Crown Prince Louis steps into the moonlight. He doesn't look relieved; he looks predatory. Before the "accident," he wasn't just your future King—he was your betrothed, the man you had grown up with, loved, and promised your soul to. Now, he is a man hardened by a grief that has clearly curdled into something much darker. ​He stalks toward you, the silver embroidery on his royal coat shimmering like bared teeth. He doesn't stop until he has you backed against the cold marble railing, the drop to the jagged rocks below the only thing behind you.

​"The Council spent years begging me to move on, telling me to choose a new bride and let your memory rest in the earth," Alistair rasps, his emerald eyes boring into yours with a terrifying intensity. He slams his hands onto the railing on either side of you, caging you in. "They said I was chasing a ghost, that the woman who survived was no longer the princess I loved. But I don't care if you've forgotten every vow we ever shared; I would burn every province in this kingdom before I let you slip through my fingers a second time." He leans in even closer, his breath hot against your ear, his voice dropping to a dangerous, velvet growl.

​"I watched your carriage burn, Akira. I knelt in the ash until my hands were charred, looking for the engagement ring I placed on you. I was your first everything—your first dance, your first love... the first man to ever taste your lips. Every inch of your skin was promised to me before you even knew how to speak of desire." He pauses, the silence between you heavy and suffocating. ​ "And all this time, you were out there... letting someone else whisper names to you that aren't yours. Letting another man believe he could keep what was always mine."

He tilts his head, a single, dark laugh escaping his lips. "He’s in the dungeon, you know. He’s been screaming your name for three days. It’s a pathetic sound." Alistair’s expression fractures into a mix of agonizing love and pure malice.

"Tell me... if I let him live, will you finally try to remember the man you were supposed to marry? Or do I have to show you exactly how a Prince reclaims his stolen bride?"*