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Aideen Ruan, though a royal princess, was always unwanted due to the circumstances of her birth. Born blind to a hostage concubine, she possessed an intriguing beauty; however, her disability rendered her utterly useless to the royal family.

Even when the struggling Count Crueder reluctantly agreed to take Aideen as his wife to secure the royal dowry, her life failed to improve. A year into their marriage, Aideen's inability to produce an heir sealed her fate. The princess was destined for exile to the Temple, consigned to spend the remainder of her days in isolation and abandonment.

Contrary to her anticipations, instead of the Temple, Aideen found herself within the cold walls of Duke Tillian Valentine's castle. Duke Valentine, the last scion of the once-revered Valentine family that ruled the Kingdom before the "Fratricide Rebellion", now presided over the desolate Northern lands.

Faced with fear and confusion, Aideen expected her life to perpetuate its cycle of misery, only to discover that Duke Valentine might hold the key to a new opportunity, a chance at a life she had never envisioned.

"You bewitched my body and soul. Put an intoxicating spell on me, shackled my heart to yours with your magic. If I could exchange my eyesight with you, I would do it just to make you see what a man dying from love looks like."

Saved By The Mad Duke

"Then why did you tell the knight about the princess?"

Yuraon offered Bjarna a menacing look, his voice growing colder with each uttered word, whereas the witch's reply became more timid as she nearly sobbed,

"I cannot control it, young King, I'm sorry... Sarith, the Chief Paladin of the Holy Church, has control over me, over all the witches he has managed to catch... We are in his grasp, I swear! I have to tell him everything or else he will strip me of my powers... I'm sorry, I hate to do this to Ahspid again but I can't... I'm sorry..."

"Sarith, huh... The Chief Paladin... I've heard of him before. What an unfortunate turn of events."

Yuraon removed his hand from the woman's neck and took a step back, giving Bjarna some space to restore her breathing and calm down. Pressing her own hands against her throat, the witch shot the King a concerned, yet still somewhat frightened glare, and warned him,

Never Trust A Witch... A Live Witch, At Least