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This is the story of Princess Ingrid of Ásjáheimr and Grand Commander Caym Fairburne of Sylvania Empire. ×××××××× [ R18: Mature content. ] The tradition of royal captivity started during the rule of the Second Emperor Ludwig in the Sylvania Empire, where descendants from various kingdoms were brought as 'symbols of peace'. The royal captives lived in an isolated palace provided with material luxury but devoid of freedom and future, like beautiful birds in locked in a jeweled cage. Ingrid is the First Princess of Ásjáheimr and the last royal captive of the Sylvania Empire. Having endured childhood abuse without receiving any help to heal her traumas, Ingrid has succumbed to depression. She lacks the desire to explore beyond her known life, cherishing her fragile peace as a royal captive over the thought of freedom. But how long can she stay this way? When Ingrid met Caym Fairburne, the Grand Commander of the Imperial Army of Sylvania, her little world have started to change. As they navigate the dangerous landscape of rebellion, war, power struggles, and mysterious divine interventions, Ingrid finds herself captivated by the Grand Commander who stands as strong as a fortress yet as warm as the sun. "I am a royal captive," Ingrid whispered, lowering her gaze. "You've already mentioned that, Your Highness," Caym remarked. Ingrid lifted her head once more. "Tell me, what is it that you're doing now?" she asked. "You are the Grand Commander. You shouldn't be entangling yourself with me, let alone be having this conversation with me." Caym tilted his head. "I suppose that's true. But as I said, I also don't know what I'm doing right now," he admitted. Ingrid observed Caym's dark hair, its strands capturing the ethereal glow of the moonlight. His amber eyes, with an intensity that mirrored the flames, held a gaze that seemed to penetrate the shadows. A chiseled jawline framed his face, adding a rugged yet commanding quality. His brows arched above those penetrating eyes, creating an expression that Ingrid could not read. "Grand Commander, you've suddenly become quite handsome in my eyes," Ingrid remarked. "Don't you realize how precarious this is?" Caym remained silent for a few moments. "I believe I understand the peril in that," he finally said, his deep amber gaze locked on Ingrid. War looms on the horizon, love blooms amidst chaos, and political intrigue threatens to tear them apart. Their fates entwined, Caym and Ingrid must navigate treacherous waters, their encounter shaping the destiny of nations. ××××××××××× Extra tags: #dotingML #brokenFL #psychological #detailedworldbuilding #severalkingdoms #schemes #powerstruggles #divinebeings #complexplot #weaktostrong #mature
There was no moon nor stars in the sky, yet an eerie brightness engulfed the surroundings. The trees stood like spectral sentinels, their leaves illuminated by the ghostly glow.
Flames devoured a distant mansion, dancing like malevolent spirits frolicking in the darkness.
Caym's jaw tightened as his gaze bore into the carriage ahead.
Years of chasing criminals had never prepared him for the madness he witnessed — a man burning his own home, servants and wife trapped inside, all in a desperate bid to escape justice.
"How atrocious," Caym thought.
"A clearing!" a knight's voice rang out as they neared an open space.
Caym's hand rose, a silent command that set his cavalries into swift action. Two knights veered right while two veered to the left, navigating the narrow clearance with urgency.
With a knight securing a strategic vantage point, Caym, his hand still raised, gestured toward the carriage's position.
Arrows whistled through the night unerringly, striking the carriage's horse, which stumbled and toppled over.
The cavaliers slowed, moving in a calculated dance to surround the fallen carriage.
"You have nowhere to go, Count Braille," Caym declared, his voice cold as he observed the Count struggling to rise.
Count Braille's face contorted in fear, his voice barely audible over the encroaching soldiers' din.
"N-no," the poor count stammered, desperation lacing his words. "Please spare us! I-I'll give you everything! Beneath the mansion, there are—"
"Spare?" Caym's deep voice rumbled through the night as his amber gaze locked onto the Count. There was no ounce of mercy on his face, not even when he saw the Count wounded and his family lying motionless under the broken carriage.
"Count Braille," Caym declared, "no traitor is destined for a swift and painless death."
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The author draws inspiration from historical Europe for the Sylvania Empire (mainly the British and French monarchy) and Ásjáheimr (some Scandinavian elements).
However, as this is a fictional world, various aspects such as customs, traditions, fashions, and even cuisine are not exclusively grounded in historical accuracy. Nevertheless, the author is committed to ensuring that the events in this alternate reality will unfold in a logically consistent manner.
