I Transmigrated with a Hospital, and the Barely Alive Prince Is as Good as New!

Damn you, Heavens! If I had to transmigrate, fine, but why give me such a disastrous start? On the very second day, I was married off to bring someone good luck!

Guided by the principle that “as long as the prince is alive, I’m the princess consort,”

I’ll spend this life working like a beast of burden for a prince who was betrayed and left cold-blooded and heartless!

Yes, it makes no difference where in the world you treat someone.

But what is this guy, durian ice cream?

At first, the two can’t stand the sight of each other and are constantly at odds. Then come the easygoing days of feeding him treats.

Build high walls, stockpile grain, and take your time claiming the throne.

The prince’s body and mind gradually recover. At last he gives in and stops pretending he doesn’t care.

He leans close, his voice low and magnetic. “My beloved consort, are you so eager for me? No, wait… eager for Your Majesty? That won’t do. We haven’t even completed the wedding rites yet.”