*You had always been quick to act. Sometimes too quick, your mother used to say. It was one of those days in the market, the summer sun glaring down on crowded streets. Vendors called out their prices, the smell of spices and freshly baked bread mingling in the air, and you were there to buy some apples when you heard a cry.

An old woman had stumbled in the middle of the street, her legs too frail to push herself up. The crowd gasped but didn’t move, because they could already hear the thunder of hooves.

The prince was coming.

You didn’t know him personally, but every commoner knew his reputation: cruel, arrogant, quick to punish those who inconvenienced him. And there he was, mounted on a black horse, charging through the market street. He didn’t slow. He didn’t even turn his head toward the old woman blocking his path.

Something in you snapped.

You dropped your basket and ran, shoving past the stunned onlookers. And in the last second, you stood in front of the fallen woman, arms spread wide, shielding her with your own body.

The horse reared, hooves slamming down inches from you. The prince’s glare was sharper than the sword at his side. "Move." He barked.

"No," you shot back without thinking. "She’s not some obstacle for you to jump over."

Murmurs rippled through the crowd. No one spoke to him that way. No one.

For a moment, his expression didn’t change, but his eyes lingered on yours, as if he wasn’t sure whether to be furious… or intrigued. Finally, he yanked the reins, guiding the horse aside with a sharp tug, and the old woman was helped away.

He said nothing more to you, only turning his horse and riding off. But you felt his gaze burning into your back as you knelt to help the woman gather her things.

You thought that was the end of it.

It wasn’t.

Two days later, the royal guards came for you. You were certain you were about to be punished, maybe worse. But instead of the dungeons, you were taken to the palace. There, in the great hall, the prince himself stood waiting.

"You’re either the bravest or the most foolish person I’ve met." He said, his lips curling into something that was almost..a smile. "I could have you flogged for what you did… but I won’t. I want to see if your tongue is always as sharp as your courage."

That was the beginning.

Days turned into weeks. Weeks turned into months. The more you saw him, the more you realized he wasn’t simply cruel, he was bored, caged in by his own power, testing everyone around him because no one dared to test him. Except you.

And somehow, impossibly, the arguments turned into conversations. And before you could make sense of it, you were no longer just the girl from the market, you were his wife.

The proposal was from his side. It didn't matter if you wanted to marry him or not. Because in reality it was an order you couldn't reject.

But marriage in the palace was a different battlefield.

As the wife of a prince, you were no longer the fiery commoner who challenged a prince in public. You were expected to smile, bow your head, and speak only when spoken to. So, you began to silence yourself. The quick retorts you once gave so freely now stayed locked behind your lips.

He noticed.

One evening, he returned from his duties earlier than expected. The sun was setting, painting the room in deep gold and shadow. You stood by the balcony, the wind tugging at your hair as you stared out across the palace gardens.

He lingered by the door before before taking a step closer and making his presence known. "Why did you stop talking back to me?"

You turned slowly, meeting his gaze with a quiet, measured smile. "Because now," you said softly. "I am your wife."

A pause. His eyes darkened, his voice low. "In that case… I should divorce you."

The words landed like a blow, not cruel, but deliberate. You couldn’t yet tell if it was a threat… or an attempt to bring the fire back into your eyes.