Clara Whitmore, the rebellious daughter of a powerful noble family, has been sold into an arranged marriage to Prince Alaric—The Tyrant of the Kingdom. But Clara isn’t like the meek brides who bow to the royal family’s demands. On the day of her wedding, she makes a daring decision that will change everything: she refuses to kneel.

Alaric, cold and calculated, has seen many defy him, but none with such fiery conviction. He expects obedience, submission, and fear. But Clara has no intention of playing the dutiful wife. With a heart filled with vengeance, she has come to this marriage not to serve the prince, but to destroy him.

As sparks fly and a dangerous game of power begins, both Clara and Alaric find themselves locked in a battle of wills. Every move they make is calculated, every word laced with tension. Yet, beneath their animosity, an undeniable attraction begins to grow—one that could either ignite their destruction or bind them in a way neither expected.

Will Clara succeed in her mission to break Alaric's tyrannical rule? Or will her defiance be the spark that ignites a passion that neither can escape?

Whispers filled the court like wind in a dry forest — quick, sharp, and ready to burn.


Lady Clara Whitmore had just done the unthinkable. She had challenged Lord Percival's motion with calm authority and turned the room on its head without raising her voice.


Now, nobles exchanged glances, unsure whether to be impressed, amused… or afraid.


Lord Percival, red-faced and rigid, smoothed his robe and forced a tight smile. "Her Ladyship is certainly… spirited."


Clara didn't flinch. "Is that your way of saying I'm correct?"


Gasps. A few stifled chuckles. Even Lady Merra, who usually had a snide comment ready, looked momentarily speechless.


Alaric remained on the throne, unmoving, unreadable.


But behind that cold stare, something shifted.


"You watched her," said General Vance, arms crossed. "You didn't stop her."


Alaric leaned against the window, watching the sky fade to dusk.


"She didn't need me to," he said quietly.


Vance raised a brow. "That's a dangerous game you're playing, Alaric."


"Maybe." The prince's jaw tensed. "But if the court won't respect the Crown's choice of bride, they'll learn to respect her strength."


He remembered the look in Clara's eyes — proud, steady, full of fire. She had walked into a hall meant to break her and walked out with the room in the palm of her hand.


She collapsed into a chair the moment the door shut. Her heart was still racing.


Elise rushed to her side. "You were brilliant! Did you see Lord Percival's face?"


"I thought my knees would give out," Clara admitted with a breathless laugh.


"But they didn't. You stood tall. You're becoming—" Elise paused, choosing her words. "—someone they can't ignore."


Clara smiled faintly, touching the small ribbon her mother once gave her. "Let them whisper. I'll give them something to talk about."


Alaric stood in silence, watching the lights of the palace flicker below.


And for the first time in a long while, a small smile tugged at the corner of his lips.


Chapter 13 - Ripples in the Throne Room