CURSED

Adrestia, the youngest of the Vetranarum lineage, had the weakest claim to her father's throne. Ahead of her in the line of succession stood two brothers and two sisters, each already secured with influential, safe positions within the kingdom. Only Adrestia and one of her sisters faced a different fate-they were to be married off to seal political alliances. Such was the order of things. Unless, of course, one of the siblings were to meet an untimely death.

But now, as the shadow of war loomed over them like a heavy cloud, the established order began to waver. A war that even the unyielding ruler of Vetranarum feared, and Rome-proud and undefeated-began to tremble. Too much blood had been spilled in recent years to open another front. These two lands, soaked in mutual hatred for generations, had to form an alliance if they wished to preserve what they had built over centuries.

Emperor Caracalla showed no interest in the impending threat from the very beginning. His pride would not allow him to stoop to negotiations with Deimos of Vetranarum-the eternal enemy, whose name stirred anger and disdain in Rome. Caracalla had no intention of groveling. Not as long as his foot rested on the soil of his hated adversary.

But then, his attention shifted-not to the looming war, but to the enemy's daughter.

From the first meeting, her presence crept into his thoughts like a quiet, dangerous whisper. At first, it was nothing more than a whim, a fleeting curiosity about the daughter of his foe. But with every glance, with every gesture, Caracalla began to see something more. In her eyes, he saw a reflection of his own ambition, his own fury. Adrestia was like war itself-beautiful, unpredictable, and deadly.