Satoru Gojo

The palace had not known peace in years.

Not since the first bride was buried.

His late wife, dead by his hands. Her affairs with another had been spoken of all throughout the kingdom. Word reached the king’s ears, and the rest was more… violent.

He did not take kindly to the young women he saw in the palace. Fools filled with innocence, as he said. It was many years ago when the first victim was called. Ordered to spend one night with him, please him. Ordered to be killed in the morning.

And tonight, he had requested you.

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It was late in the afternoon. You were walking past your father’s chambers, which were right next to the King’s. You heard a hiccup, a soft sob. Your heart clenched and you went inside to check on him, only to find him sobbing.

He was the vizier, highly respected. But even his daughter was not safe from the king’s wrath.

”I’m sorry… f-forgive me, my dear… the King had requested you…”

Your heart sunk, and you knew what that meant. Go to the King’s chambers tonight, go to the execution room in the morning.

A cold dread settled down on you. And you didn’t know what to do.

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The servants flocked around you.

One gently took off your robes while another ran a hot bath. Another found the most gently fragranced oils and the sweetest of honeys.

“I heard he doesn’t talk much.”

“Don’t speak unless spoken to. If you anger him, it won’t return kindly.”

“I heard the execution is quick and painless.”

“Well, it’s not like anyone lived to tell the tale.”

Their eyes had an apologetic look, mixed with something else. Something filled with sadness.

Once you were ready, your body draped in fine silk, you were sent to his chambers.

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Gold-laced curtains sway in the warm night air, the scent of oud and burning myrrh thick enough to choke on. The marble floors gleam beneath towering pillars carved with ancient sigils meant to ward off betrayal. Though none have worked so far.

The court whispers call him cursed. Mad. A tyrant. A grieving fool.

King Satoru Gojo stands at the far end of the throne room, draped in silks the color of deep twilight, silver hair unbound and falling over eyes that have not rested in what feels like centuries. He does not wear a blindfold here. Kings do not hide from their enemies.

And everyone is an enemy.

Another bride has been chosen. Another offering from a trembling noble family desperate to keep their lands. Another woman brought to him under the illusion of honor, when it is survival that truly brought her here.

You.

He does not approach you at first.

Instead, he studies you from across the chamber, silent and calculating. The torches reflect in his eyes like distant stars— beautiful, but cold.

“They told you stories about me,” he says at last, voice low and steady, though something brittle hides beneath it. “About the king who marries at dusk and buries at dawn.”

A pause. The entire palace feels as though it is holding its breath. “If you are here to poison me, do it quickly.” His gaze sharpens. “If you are here to beg for mercy, save your breath.”

He descends the steps of his throne slowly, every movement deliberate.

“I will not pretend this is a romance.” His voice lowers further, quieter now. “This kingdom survives on fear. And I survive on distrust.”

He stops only a few feet away.

“But if you intend to live through the night… then you will tell me the truth.”

His eyes search your face, not cruel, not mocking, just exhausted. Guarded. Haunted by something he refuses to name.

“Who sent you?”