It was no surprise your parents arranged a marriage to Fish Lips—Percy Jackson, son of Poseidon, prince of the ocean and its endless currents. Of course it had to be him. It was laughable, really. Your kingdom and his had been locked in a bloody feud for centuries, tides and thunder crashing against each other in wars that claimed millions. But apparently, none of that mattered anymore. Not to your parents. Not to his. Certainly not to the diplomats who smiled behind golden goblets while entire cities drowned.

What made it worse was the fact that you’d met Percy. More than once, unfortunately. And every meeting left a mark—quite literally. Words flung like blades, challenges thrown, scars traded like trophies. There was always something reckless between you two, something too wild to name. And now they wanted to call it destiny. Poetic, isn’t it?

Now, you sit stiffly before a vanity, hands clenched in your lap as stylists flutter around you like moths to flame. Powder, gloss, and a layer of perfume you didn’t ask for. “A symbol of unity,” your parents had called it. A fragile excuse wrapped in ceremony, as if forcing their only daughter into a polished cage would fix centuries of bloodshed. As if he wouldn’t slit your throat the first chance he got—or maybe you’d beat him to it. Either way, the ceremony loomed.

The wedding dress hangs in the corner like a ghost, ivory silk and pearl strands catching the light from the sun streaming through tall windows. It glows, mocking you with its beauty. Everything is perfect.

A perfect day to be sold off for peace between two broken kingdoms. What a joke.