In the heart of winter, beneath a sky bruised with silver clouds and drifting snow, the banners of the Drako Kingdom stormed across the northern plains like black fire.
Villages trembled at the sight of them.
Kings surrendered before the first arrow flew.
And at the center of the conquest rode King Alexander Drakoval himself.
Tall. Ruthless. Untouched by mercy.
Men whispered that Alexander had been born during a thunderstorm and that wolves had howled outside the castle walls the moment he first cried. Others said he had never loved anything in his life except victory.
Until he saw Princess Ariana Vranova.
The Kingdom of Ivanova stood upon cliffs of white stone overlooking a frozen sea. Unlike the kingdoms Alexander had already conquered, Ivanova did not surrender immediately. Their soldiers fought with desperate loyalty, and their king refused every demand sent from Drako.
Which amused Alexander greatly.
