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The grand hall of Aras Palace was bathed in the golden glow of the setting sun. Stained-glass windows cast fragmented patterns of light across the long table cluttered with maps and war reports. The air was thick with tension, a silence so heavy that even the flickering torches seemed to dim under its weight.
At the far end of the hall, King Aras sat upon his throne, his gaze sharp yet shadowed with unease. His fingers curled over the armrests, knuckles whitening as he pondered the uncertain future that loomed over his kingdom.
Then, the heavy doors groaned open.
A tall figure stepped inside, clad in a black war cloak embroidered with gold, his presence swallowing the air in the room. Silver hair, slightly tousled from battle, framed his sharp features, and his golden eyes—like embers on the verge of fading—scanned the chamber with quiet dominance.
"Prince Eros has returned!"
The booming announcement from the guards sent a ripple of shock through the court. Ministers and nobles turned, their expressions ranging from disbelief to wary admiration.
Eros, the war hero, the cursed prince—he had come back.
Standing at a towering height of six and a half feet, his crimson eyes flickered with unreadable emotion as he strode forward, his loyal warriors trailing behind. Though their uniforms bore no trace of blood, the faint metallic scent of death clung to them, a silent testament to the carnage they had left behind.
His boots echoed against the marble floor as he reached the throne. Without hesitation, he lowered himself onto one knee before the king.
A long pause filled the hall before Eros spoke, his voice calm yet unyielding.
"Victory is ours, Your Majesty."
"The enemy forces have been annihilated. The northern border is now entirely under the dominion of Aras."
Murmurs spread like wildfire. Some ministers exchanged impressed glances, while others paled in dread. This was no ordinary battle. The war at the northern border had been a death trap—an impossible mission where even the mightiest of armies had fallen. No one had expected Eros to return.
Yet here he stood.
The prince whose very existence reeked of death, whose blood was said to be poison, untouchable by mere mortals.
King Aras leaned back, his grip tightening on the throne's armrests. His piercing gaze swept over Eros, searching for something—an answer, a weakness, anything.
"How is it that you return… unscathed?"
The question hung in the air, heavy with suspicion.
Eros lifted his head slightly, his lips curling into the faintest smirk. "Fate favors us, Your Majesty. Or perhaps…" His gaze darkened, amusement laced with something far colder. "They were simply too weak."
The king's expression soured.
Before the tension could snap, a middle-aged noble—Ambassador Anderson—cleared his throat, his voice attempting to restore diplomacy.
"This is excellent news for the kingdom, Your Majesty," Anderson interjected. "With this victory, Aras can extend its reach further north, solidifying our dominion."
Yet, the king did not smile.
His eyes remained fixed on his son, dissecting every movement, every shift of breath. The victory was undeniable, but something about Eros unsettled him.
In the corner of the room, the queen sat with composed elegance, draped in a flowing sky-blue silk gown that shimmered under the dimming sunlight. Her face was soft, serene—but behind her tranquil mask, calculations ran deep.
"An extraordinary triumph, Prince Eros," she murmured, her voice laced with honeyed venom. "Yet, war is not only about brute strength. A true ruler requires wisdom, not just the ability to slaughter without mercy."
Eros turned his head toward her, his expression unreadable.
Beside her, Prince Eliot—the favored son—sat with perfect posture, his sapphire eyes calm, his every gesture exuding quiet charisma. Unlike Eros, whose presence devoured the room, Eliot was a man people instinctively trusted, a beacon of gentle leadership.
The king exhaled deeply, his gaze never leaving Eros.
"You have proven yourself on the battlefield," he admitted, his voice measured. "But this kingdom requires more than victories. It needs a leader who can bring peace."
Silence followed.
Eros said nothing, but he knew. He knew what this meant.
The throne room had transformed into a battlefield of its own.
The king was testing him, measuring the risk of his existence. And now, the next move would determine whether he remained a weapon for the crown… or became a threat to be eliminated.
A Royal Decree
Minutes ticked by, the weight of unspoken words pressing on the chamber. The ministers, once confident in their neutrality, began shifting in their seats, sensing the undercurrents of something far more dangerous than politics.
Then, the king spoke. His voice carried an authority that left no room for argument.
"As a reward for your triumph, I have decided to grant you an honor beyond mere titles."
A wave of anticipation swept through the court.
The king's gaze hardened.
"I will arrange your marriage."
The word rang through the hall like a death sentence.
Some ministers stiffened, while others—those with unmarried daughters—immediately felt a shiver of dread.
A marriage to him?
The cursed prince. The war-born demon of Aras.
To be bound to Eros was not just an alliance—it was a gamble with death itself. He was a man whose hands had been stained with more blood than anyone in this court, a creature whispered about in fearful hushes.
A hushed murmur broke among the nobles.
"Is this truly wise?" one minister whispered. "Who would dare wed their daughter to him?"
"Perhaps this is the king's way of controlling him," another murmured. "Marriage could tie him down, strip him of his autonomy."
The king observed Eros closely, searching for a reaction.
Eros merely tilted his head, crimson eyes unreadable. "A marriage, is it?"
The king nodded, voice steady. "A union that will strengthen your ties to the throne. And ensure that your power serves the kingdom… appropriately."
He did not need to say the rest aloud.
This was not a reward. It was a leash.
A well-calculated strategy to entangle Eros in palace intrigue, to keep him shackled under the weight of duty and manipulation.
From her seat, the queen's lips curled into a knowing smile. "Such an important decision requires careful consideration, Your Majesty." She turned her gaze to her son Eliot, thoughts already spinning.
She would not allow the throne to be threatened.
Not by Eros.
The prince of death remained silent, his smirk lingering ever so slightly. He had survived the battlefield, but this?
This was a war of a different kind.
And he had no intention of losing.
Eros remained silent for a moment, letting the heavy stillness stretch, tightening around everyone in the room.
Then, with a slow, deliberate movement that contrasted the tension suffocating the hall, he straightened.
"Marriage, huh?" he repeated, his voice low yet echoing through the grand chamber. "Interesting."
His blood-red eyes met the king's, searching for the hidden truths buried beneath the mask of a ruler's authority.
Then, his lips curved into a faint smile—not of joy, but something far more elusive.
"Very well," he finally said, his tone laced with something unspoken—not submission, not excitement, but… challenge. "I accept."
A ripple of whispers spread through the nobles.
Some stiffened, others exchanged wary glances.
The queen's serene smile remained, yet her eyes narrowed slightly, as if trying to decipher the meaning behind Eros's words.
The king himself said nothing, though his fingers drummed against the armrest of his throne—his only tell that his mind was racing.
Eros stepped forward, his boots echoing against the marble floor, before tilting his head slightly—a mere formality, devoid of genuine obedience.
"However…"
The word lingered in the air, suspending every breath in the room.
Eros lifted his gaze, his golden-red eyes gleaming with something dangerous—something intrigued.
"Who is my bride?"
And in that moment, for the first time since his return, the room truly fell into silence.
The king smiled, his gaze shifting to Anderson—the man who had tutored his son since childhood.
"She must be a clever girl, just like her father."
"She will arrive through invitation." The king raised his hand, his smile unwavering.
Meanwhile, Anderson had been watching Prince Eros with quiet concern.
Within these grand palace walls, he had witnessed it all—the injustices endured by a child. Since his earliest years, Eros had suffered mistreatment at the hands of his siblings. Even his own father despised him, for the birth of Eros had taken the life of Narelle Clover—the beloved empress the king had cherished above all else.
And at the same time, the Clover Curse had fallen upon Eros.
A child born under the stars' prophecy.
A child destined to be a king.