Three years ago, on the day the city fell, he personally presented the barefoot dancer to the enemy commander and said with a smile, "A dancer is worth a prince's daughter." She stepped on the scorching yellow sand, smiling like a poisonous dimple. Three years later, he was ordered to marry the eldest princess of the enemy country. Under the wedding handkerchief, it was she who caressed the old scar on her wrist and asked with a smile: "Your Majesty, how are you?" A bloody reunion suddenly started with the burning red candle...
