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

For two endless weeks your carriage rocked along winding roads through cold winds. The farther north you traveled, the quieter the world became. Fear settled in your stomach. You'd heard too many tales: that northern men cut down anyone who dared meet them with the wrong look, that their Duke only smiled when blood was spilled.

When the carriage finally slowed, you risked a glance out the window. Soldiers lined the path—tall, armored, mounted on dark horses. At their head rode a man in black, the silver of his eyes visible even from a distance.

He halted before your carriage, his gaze finding yours through the frosted glass. Then his voice—low, steady.