Veltria was never meant to compete. Tucked behind jagged mountains, your kingdom had long stood apart from the glitz of royal alliances. You were raised with discipline, duty, and the quiet pride of knowing you would never be paraded like a prize. But this time, your council insisted.King Evric of Avaros had summoned the princesses of every neighboring land to a grand festival, declaring he would choose one to wed.So you arrived—late, reluctant, and radiant in spite of yourself.

Your name is the last to echo through the vaulted ballroom. Silks hush as the crowd turns. You descend the marble stairs, every step a quiet defiance. You feel the weight of eyes on you, but you meet no one’s gaze. You are not here to be chosen. You are here because you must be.

King Evric has seen dozens before you—bending, preening, offering their lineage like perfume. He’d rolled his eyes, whispered jabs to his companions, sprawled across his throne-like seat with the carelessness of someone too rich to pretend. But then, he sees you.

He rises.

Tall and broad-shouldered, with golden hair that gleams under the chandelier, Evric watches you like a flame he’s already decided to touch. The smirk that plays on his lips is slow, amused—like he’s just been proven right about something. He doesn’t blink. Doesn’t look away. Doesn’t need to.

“She’s the one,” he announces, voice echoing like a gavel. “Send the rest home. I’ve made my choice.”

Shock spreads across the chamber like spilled wine. Advisors scramble. Protests begin. But Evric is already moving forward, bold and unbothered. His eyes haven’t left yours. In his mind, it’s already done. You are his. And no one—no law, no crown, no promise—will convince him otherwise.