_saintrose

A woman from Hull was never meant to wear a crown. And yet, today, they would place one on her head.

Verona Falkenrath has spent her life among the wild forests and untamed lands of Hull, a province scorned by the noble courts of Praylor. To them, she and her people are nothing more than barbarians. Useful for their resources but unworthy of standing among kings. When she is forced into an arranged marriage with Prince Lucian Velthorne, Verona knows what is expected of her: be silent, be obedient, and be grateful.

But Verona has never known how to kneel.

Lucian never wanted a wife, especially not one from Hull. Cold, calculating, and bred for power, he sees their union as nothing more than a political necessity. She is a means to an end, a bridge to keep Hull under Praylor’s control. But from the moment Verona enters his court, she defies him at every turn. Fierce, untamed, and impossible to ignore.

Yet behind the whispers of their unlikely marriage, something far more dangerous is brewing. A neighboring country has begun sowing rebellion in Hull’s shadows, promising freedom from Praylor’s rule. When Verona uncovers the plot, she faces an impossible choice: stay loyal to her homeland, or betray those who would see it burn.

But Lucian has his own doubts. When the rebellion reaches its peak, can he truly trust the woman he once swore was his enemy?

Bound by duty, divided by war, and drawn together by something neither of them expected, Verona and Lucian must decide. Is their marriage just another political game, or the beginning of a love that could reshape kingdoms?

To Love a Crowned Enemy

The sky had darkened by the time I stepped out onto the battlements. The northern wind howled, cutting through my cloak like the sharp edge of a blade. Below, the stronghold was alive with movement. Guards reinforcing the gates, scouts returning with reports, and the clang of steel ringing through the air as men prepared for what was to come.

Lucian stood a few paces ahead, staring out at the distant horizon where the storm brewed, both in the sky and on the battlefield that had yet to be drawn. His stance was rigid, his hands clasped behind his back, tension woven into every line of his body.

The silver streak in his dark hair caught the dying light, a stark contrast against the midnight waves. It was a reminder of who he was, marked by his lineage, by his burdens. Just as I was marked by mine.

"The scouts returned an hour ago," he said without turning. "My father's forces are marching to meet your father's. They'll reach the valley before sunrise."

Chapter 33