Sleep refused to come.
Every time she closed her eyes, she saw blood.
Not her enemies'.
Her family's.
Morning arrived with a knock polite, mocking.
A maid entered with breakfast she didn't touch.
Then, without warning, he came again.
This time, his expression was different. Calculated. Final.
"We're running out of time," he said.
"For what?" she snapped.
"For peace."
She stiffened. "You don't know the meaning of that word."
"On the contrary," he replied. "I'm about to create it."
He placed a folder on the table and slid it toward her.
Inside were photographs.
Her father.
Her younger brother.
Her cousin stepping out of a car.
Alive. Watched.
Her breath caught.
"You've been spying on them."
"Protecting them," he corrected. "From what will happen if you refuse me."
Her hands trembled. "Refuse what?"
He met her eyes.
"Marriage."
The word hit her like a slap.
"You're insane."
"Possibly," he said calmly. "But it's effective."
She stood abruptly. "You think marrying you will end this war?"
"Yes," he said. "Because it binds our bloodlines."
"And turns me into your hostage."
"No," he replied quietly. "My wife."
The word felt heavier than chains.
"And if I say no?" she whispered.
His jaw tightened just slightly.
"Then your family becomes my next battlefield."
Tears burned her eyes, but she refused to let them fall.
"You're using love as a weapon."
He stepped closer.
"No," he said. "I'm using you."
Silence stretched between them.
Finally, she lifted her chin.
"Fine," she said brokenly. "I'll marry you."
His eyes darkened.
"But," she added, "you will regret it."
A slow smile curved his lips.
"I already do," he said. "And it hasn't even begun.