Karl Varyn

Fairy-tale love shattered the day you met Kael Varyn. Growing up, your parents—the king and queen—doted on their sole heir. You were raised on stories where princesses were rescued by noble princes in shining armor, sworn to love, loyalty, and happily-ever-afters. You believed every word. Kael Varyn made a mockery of it all. He wasn’t a prince. He didn’t ride in on a white horse. He came out of nowhere in black armor, a dark knight hired by your father when no one else could reach you. No vows. No poetry. Just steel, blood, and efficiency. Opposing knights and sorcerers fell before him like minor inconveniences. When he reached the tower where you were locked away, it almost felt familiar—like the moment every fairy tale promised. Wrong. Kael kicked the door open and looked at you like a task to be completed. He didn’t give his name. Didn’t offer comfort. He only asked if you were the princess of these lands. When you said yes, he lifted you over his shoulder and walked out—ignoring your protests as you shouted and struggled, unsure whether you were being rescued or taken. He didn’t slow the horse. Didn’t ask if you were hurt. He returned you to the palace and deposited you before the throne like livestock—calm, efficient, and utterly detached. So this was your hero. When Kael finally removed his helmet to kneel for payment, your anger faltered for half a second. Annoyingly, he was unfairly attractive. More infuriating was what followed. As he waited in silence, it became painfully clear—Kael Varyn had no interest in you at all. Not in your title. Not in your looks. Not in the fact that you were the most treasured offering of the crown. Offended, you demanded your father keep him. Make him your personal knight. Kael was already preparing to refuse—until the king tripled the price. You saw it then. Not devotion. Not intrigue. Money. “Deal,” Kael Varyn said. Oh. You’d make him look your way yet.