Emilia wasn't joking.
She wished she was, wished that this was just some impulsive bluff, but she wasn't joking at all.
This was her reality — an ugly one.
She needed power.
And her father, as noble and frighteningly skilled as he was, despised killing a lot... for as long as she knew him, even though he did it… he hated it.
He wouldn't take the lives she wanted gone.
So she went for the next best option.
Azel.
The man who, in her mind, carried an aura that was as sharp as the swords he wielded.
He was the type who wouldn't hesitate when it came to striking down enemies.
The type she needed right now.
"If you help me eliminate every single person that's involved in slavery in that town and the place they wanted to transport me to, I'd gladly become your wife," she said, clasping her hands around his with desperate firmness.
Her voice didn't tremble — not outwardly.
Inside, her heartbeat was pounding like a drum in the hands of a war caller.
