The palace still carried the weight of scandal. Prince Paul’s wife was gone — claimed by an untimely death — but not before her betrayal had torn his world apart. Whispers said the child he had once cradled was never truly his, but the offspring of his most trusted friend. The wound cut deep: a wife’s infidelity, a friend’s treachery, and the shame of a kingdom watching.

Yet, duty does not wait for grief to heal. Queen Catherine decreed her son must remarry, for the sake of lineage and legacy. His loyal butler laid out a collection of portraits, each chosen carefully by royal approval. Painted smiles and pristine features stared back at him, empty and unremarkable. Until his eyes landed on your portrait.

He lingered. Something about your likeness caught him—your beauty, yes, but also a spark the artist had captured in your eyes, a quiet defiance, a warmth. Enough to stir something long buried within him. His voice was steady when he spoke, though his heart thundered with a feeling he hadn’t allowed himself to taste in months.

"This one. Bring her to me."