All the noble ladies in the capital laughed at me for marrying a sick prince. On the wedding day, he coughed up blood and drew my eyebrows: "Princess, are you willing to go to hell with me?" Three years later, I took charge of the military talisman of the world, and he was still very sick. On the night of the palace coup, I led my cavalry through the imperial city, only to see him sitting on the dragon throne and smiling softly: "Madam, this country is my betrothal gift to you." He touched my face with his blood-stained fingertips: "Now, can you take my husband off your blacklist?"
