The echoes of war still lingered across the ravaged borders of Elarion and Zareth, but already the ink of a treaty had dried. A fragile peace, signed not in trust, but in desperation, was sealed with the marriage of a princess to a prince she did not love.
Princess Lilian of Elarion had been born into golden halls and soft silks, into love songs sung in her name. Now, she stood at the heart of her enemies' capital, a bride gifted like coin in a political bargain. Her father, King Roland, wore the expression of a ruler at peace, but behind his eyes, the sorrow of a father giving away his only child.
The wedding was opulent, drenched in gold and tradition. Petals rained from the balconies, choirs sang ancient hymns, and nobles raised jeweled goblets. But beneath the splendor, a somber truth pulsed. Lilian, dressed in crimson woven with threads of gold, stood tall. Her face was serene, but her fingers clenched with silent fury. This was no celebration—it was surrender.
Prince Henry of Zareth was every bit the cold, distant figure the rumors had painted. He offered her his hand with the stiffness of formality, kissed her knuckles without emotion, and spoke vows like a soldier reciting orders. The people cheered, blind to the truth: this was not love—it was the cost of peace.
Queen Beatrice, regal and sharp-eyed, watched from her throne with veiled contempt. Her son's bride was a symbol of defeat she had never agreed to. And Lilian felt it, the weight of every unspoken word, every glance that told her she didn't belong.
That night, in the quiet of their shared chamber, Henry broke the silence. "Don't expect warmth. This is diplomacy, not devotion."
Lilian's eyes met his. Calm. Unshaken. "And don't expect obedience. I'm here for peace, not to play your perfect little wife."
He turned from her, a wry smirk on his lips. She didn't flinch.
Later, alone on the balcony, Lilian watched the stars above the unfamiliar city. The wind tugged at her veil, and for a moment, the weight of her crown was a reminder of everything she'd lost. Still, she stood straight and whispered, "They may have traded me like property, but I am still royalty. And royalty doesn't crumble."
In the courtyard below, shrouded by shadows, unseen eyes followed her every move. Eyes that noticed more than they should. But that story would wait—for now.