Her city was conquered twice.
The first time, by his army.
The second time, by his love.
When the city first fell, she hid beneath her father's imperial desk, watching as countless palaces turned to dust. She watched his iron cavalry surge in like a tide. He was the emperor of an enemy kingdom, handsome, with a ruthless decisiveness between his brows unlike anything she had ever seen.
The second fall came in that moment. She heard something inside her collapse with a crash, like the city walls falling and the palaces crumbling. The hatred she had believed unbreakable had, without her realizing it, already been infiltrated, undone, and devoured by another feeling.
Her city was conquered twice.
The first time it fell, she lost her country.
The second time it fell, she lost herself.
