On the night I was sent to marry in my sister’s place, my blind husband clamped a hand around my throat and warned me, “Behave yourself, and you might live a few days longer.”
I became the new bride sent to bring good fortune to a violent heir, as well as the laughingstock of the entire capital.
He was blind and frail, with a dark, twisted temperament. He treated me like an insect and humiliated me at every turn.
I swallowed every insult and spent day and night brewing medicinal decoctions as poisonous as they were, just to cling to a sliver of hope.
Then I accidentally discovered that the drinks he consumed every day were actually the cause of his wounds refusing to heal.
I hid the antidote. When the poison flared up again and he was on the brink of death, I whispered in his ear:
“My lord, want to live? Beg me.”
