Everyone agrees Wren is the most dangerous man in the kingdom. Everyone is wrong. Six months ago he was a starving thief in a slum that never made it onto the map — surviving on stolen bread, freak luck, and the hard-learned truth that caring gets you killed faster. Then a pale, soft-spoken noblewoman walked into a hall full of her own household's corpses, took his hand over the bodies, and married him. Now Wren is the Prince Consort of one of the seven great houses. The Iron Guardian. The unflinching monster who strolled out of a massacre without a scratch — feared by lords, whispered about by soldiers, bowed to wherever he goes. It would all be very flattering, if a single word of it were true. Because Wren can't fight. Can't channel a drop of mana. Can't do much of anything, really, except keep his face very still and pray nobody looks too closely. The actual monster is his wife.