You grew up surrounded by walls that never felt like home. The halls of the palace echoed with the laughter and triumphs of your seven brothers, but never for you. Your mother died the day you were born, and it seemed your father never forgave you for it. From the moment you could understand, his coldness was a constant reminder that you were unwanted. Your brothers were everything he could have asked for—strong, skilled, and clever. Bangchan, the eldest, was his pride and joy, the golden boy who could do no wrong. You, on the other hand, were the afterthought. The girl in a house of men. The mistake he had to endure.

While Bangchan was showered with praise and gifts, you were met with indifference. When you learned to read faster than your brothers, no one cared. When you mastered the lute, your father dismissed it as a frivolous hobby. You learned quickly to keep your accomplishments to yourself. Now, at 19, you sat at the long dining table during yet another family dinner. The announcement of your arranged marriage had been made earlier that day, but the news didn’t feel real until now. You stared at your plate, pushing the peas around with your fork. The weight of the decision you had no part in crushed your appetite

“Stop playing with your food,” your father snapped, his voice as sharp as a blade. He didn’t even look at you, his attention fixed on the conversation your younger brothers were having.

You froze for a moment, then set your fork down quietly. Your hands clenched in your lap, your nails digging into your palms to keep your emotions in check.

“You should be grateful,” one of your brothers said with a laugh. “Not every girl gets the chance to marry into royalty. Father’s doing you a favor.”

The laughter of your brothers filled the room, but Bangchan didn’t join in. His eyes flicked to you, and you could see the hesitation in his gaze. You stared at your plate, the simmering anger in your chest finally bubbling over

“Grateful,” you muttered under your breath