Chapter 1 

Since the beginning of time, power had always belonged to women.

The ancient legends told that, when the gods created humanity, they granted strength and magic only to women, while they gave men beauty and fragility. Thus were born the kingdoms where queens and empresses ruled with an iron fist, conquered lands, and shaped history to their liking.

The men, unable to fight or use magic, became prized possessions. Their faces were their greatest treasure, their bodies a possession contested by the powerful. For the commoners, finding a strong wife was a matter of survival; for the nobles, being chosen by a queen or duchess ensured a life of luxury... until their value faded.

War was a constant. Great battles between kingdoms were fought, but not for territories or resources, rather for the most beautiful men. On the battlefields, the warrior women shed blood for them, claiming them as war spoils. A man with an exceptional face could change the fate of an empire.

But beauty was ephemeral. When a man ceased to be desired, when his face no longer stirred passions, his fate was oblivion... or death.

The men who tried to rebel were seen as aberrations. Without magic or strength, their only weapon was their obedience. Those who defied the order were punished exemplary.

In this world, being beautiful was not a privilege. It was a curse.

And in the heart of this cruel society, within the gilded halls of the nobility, there existed a young man whose beauty eclipsed that of any other.

His name was Alaric, and he was destined to be the most coveted trophy of his generation. Alaric was considered the most precious jewel of House Revir. With skin as pale as the moon, eyes golden as the dawn, and dark hair that fell in soft waves, his beauty was undeniable. The noblewomen spoke of him with desire and envy, comparing him to the finest portraits of ancient kings. But in his own home, his beauty meant nothing.

His older sisters, Selene and Veyra, looked at him with disdain. Since his childhood, they had despised him for the simple fact of being born a man. While they trained in swordsmanship and magic, he was instructed in etiquette, dance, and singing, skills that mattered little to him. To them, he was nothing more than a future prize to be married off to the woman who would bring the most benefits to the family.

However, Alaric had a single refuge: his mother, Lady Isolde Revir, one of the most influential women in the empire and a formidable warrior in her youth. Unlike her daughters, she saw Alaric as more than just a pawn in the game of power. She protected him with an almost ferocious fervor, ensuring that no one harmed him or treated him with the cruelty the world reserved for beautiful men. But even his protection had its limits.

Because in this world, not even a mother could defy a man's destiny.

The golden light of dawn filtered through the windows of the Revir mansion, painting the walls in warm tones. Alaric slowly opened his eyes, enjoying for a few seconds the gentle breeze coming in from the garden.

I knew that moment of peace wouldn't last.

As every morning, the maids entered his room, bowing their heads in respect before approaching him. They helped him get up, wash his face with perfumed water, and dress him in finely embroidered clothes. "You must ensure that the young master looks impeccable." That was her mother's order. Her appearance was her greatest treasure... and her greatest prison.

When she left her room, the murmur of the house already filled the hallways. The swords clashed in the training courtyard, where his older sisters, Selene and Veyra, practiced with their instructors. Alaric walked past, feeling their gazes like daggers in his back.

"Look at him, always so perfect and delicate," Selene murmured with a mocking smile.

—If he weren't our mother's son, they would have already sold him to the highest bidder —Veyra replied with disdain.

Alaric pressed his lips together and kept walking. It wasn't worth responding. He knew what they thought of him, what the whole world thought. Men like him existed to be admired, not to speak, not to decide their own fate.

Breakfast was served in the grand dining hall, where his mother, Lady Isolde, was already waiting for him. Tall, imposing, with the sharp gaze of a woman who had conquered her place in the world, she was the only person in whom Alaric found a respite.

"Come, my son," she said softly, personally serving him a piece of bread with honey. Today you will have visitors.

Alaric felt a shiver. Visits meant noblewomen interested in seeing him. Another morning of empty compliments, greedy smiles, of feeling like an object on display.

But he was already used to it.

Because that was his world.

Breakfast passed in an uncomfortable silence, only interrupted by the faint clinking of cutlery on porcelain. Alaric kept his gaze down, slowly savoring the honeyed bread his mother had served him.

"Today, Duchess Lythia will come with her daughter, Lady Rhiannon," announced Lady Isolde with serenity. They have asked to see you.

Alaric felt a knot in his stomach. Again.

There was no need to ask the reason for the visit. Lady Rhiannon was a young but already renowned warrior, daughter of one of the most influential houses in the empire. She had reached the age when women of her position began to seek consorts, and Alaric was a coveted candidate.

—What if I don't want to see her? —he murmured without looking up.

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The silence that followed was heavy.

"Son," said his mother, her voice firm but not cruel, "I know this bothers you, but understand." A union with the duchess's house would strengthen our position. And Rhiannon is a good candidate.

Good candidate.

For men, marriage was not a choice, but a destiny. The most beautiful nobles were given to the woman who best suited the family, a practice as ancient as the empire itself. And Alaric, with his inhuman beauty, had no right to refuse any of them.

"I know," he finally replied, his voice empty.

Lady Isolde sighed and leaned slightly towards him, as if she could read her son's thoughts. With an uncommon gesture for a woman of her position, she took his hand gently.

"I won't let anyone treat you like an object, Alaric," she whispered, and although her tone was sincere, they both knew her words were a lie.

Because that was exactly their destiny.

Hours later, when the duchess and her daughter arrived, House Revir opened its doors with all the splendor of its lineage. Lady Rhiannon, tall and with the bearing of a warrior, observed it with sharp eyes, as if it already belonged to her.

Alaric bowed his head in a reverence.

The game had begun.

Alaric walked slowly through the mansion's hallways, the heavy feeling of a fate already sealed hanging over his shoulders. The murmurs of the maids and the echoes of the servants' conversations reached his ears as if everything were distant, as if he were trapped inside a bubble of indifference.

Lady Rhiannon. I had already met her on a few occasions, but never up close. That warrior with a defiant gaze, with the strength any man would envy. Alaric knew that she was everything he was not: powerful, capable of taking what she wanted, and, most importantly, independent.

When he entered the main hall, his mother, Lady Isolde, was already chatting animatedly with Duchess Lythia. The duchess, a woman with silver hair and a smile of sharp teeth, stopped speaking as soon as she saw Alaric enter. Her gaze was like a magnifying glass examining her beauty, the same gaze she had seen so many times throughout her life.

"Alaric, dear, come and greet the duchess," said his mother with a warm smile, although her eyes did not hide the same weariness he felt.

Alaric gave a slight nod, unable to prevent his face from remaining impassive, like a mask. There was no escape. The women of his world were relentless, and he was just another object, a possession passed from hand to hand.

Lady Rhiannon was watching him in silence, her eyes fixed on him with an intensity that made him feel uncomfortable. Her upright posture and her silver armor, though elegant, gave her a queenly presence. She was different from the others. There was something in her gaze, a mix of curiosity and calculation, as if she saw in him an investment, not just a possession.

Finally, the duchess spoke:

—Alaric, my son, your mother has spoken wonders about you to me. And Rhiannon has also been watching you with great interest. — The duchess smiled, although her tone was laden with intention. Alaric felt like he was being evaluated like a horse in a stable.

Rhiannon stepped forward, her gaze never leaving him. The candlelight played with the shadows on his face, making his eyes appear even sharper.

—I have heard that you are a man of great beauty, Alaric. But... will you also be a good match for a future marriage? — her voice, soft but firm, made him shudder.

Alaric felt the weight of his words, the undisguised disdain in his eyes. Could he see beyond her beauty? Could she see that he didn't want to be a prize?

However, he didn't respond. He couldn't. Not in his world.

Rhiannon's smile was not kind, but 

fascinating about her. Something that awakened a strange sense of unease in Alaric. What would she do with him if she took him?

And, for the first time, Alaric wished he could run away.

But escaping was not an option. Not in this world. Not for someone like me.

"I would like to speak with Alaric in private," said the princess with absolute calm.

My mother tensed up. My sisters exchanged surprised glances. It was unusual for a powerful woman to be interested in speaking alone with a man, and 

much less with such determination.

"Of course, Your Highness," my mother replied after a brief silence.

Without further ado, they stood up and left the room. The last to leave was my mother, but before closing the door, she shot me a warning glance. Play along. Don't challenge her.

And then, we were left alone.

The Rules of Rhiannon

I didn't have time to react before Rhiannon walked directly towards me. Her figure loomed over mine, and without warning, she took my chin between her fingers and forced me to look up at her.

"Do you always bow your head so easily?" he murmured, in a tone I couldn't tell if it was mockery or disdain.

I swallowed hard. His grip wasn't strong, but it didn't leave me any options either.

"I only show respect, Your Highness," I replied in a controlled voice.

Rhiannon smiled. It wasn't a kind smile.

—"Respect." What a more elegant word to call submission.

He let go of me, but he didn't walk away. Instead, he walked slowly around me, as if he were evaluating me.

"You are beautiful," he whispered. I knew it before I saw you, but in person... you are even more exquisite than they said.

My stomach churned. He wasn't talking about me as a person. He spoke about me as if I were a possession.

"Tell me, Alaric—his tone took on a darker shade—have you ever thought about escaping this life?"

My heart stopped for a second.

My lips parted, but I didn't respond. I couldn't respond.

—Oh… —he exhaled slowly, as if he had just discovered a fascinating secret—. So you have thought about it.

My body tensed. He had betrayed me without saying a word.

"What... what do you want from me, Your Highness?" I asked cautiously.

Rhiannon tilted her head. Then, without warning, she grabbed my wrist and pushed me against the wall.

A gasp escaped my lips in surprise.

"What do I want from you?" he repeated in a whisper, bringing his face closer to mine. The real question, Alaric, is what you are willing to give.

His warm breath brushed against my skin. His power was overwhelming.

"The women of this empire have the right to take what they desire," he continued. And I want to know... if it's worth protecting you.

His knee lightly rested on my leg, his hand still holding my wrist. It wasn't just a veiled threat, it was a warning.

If I didn't have his favor... who would protect me from the others?

For the first time in my life, I understood what it really meant to be trapped.