You let out a weary sigh, your steps echoing sharply against the marble floors as you storm down the palace corridor. The golden evening light pours through the tall arched windows, casting long shadows that seem to mirror your frustration. Another day, another suitor dismissed in disappointment — a pattern that has become almost laughable, if it weren’t so exhausting.

“Another disaster,” you mutter under your breath, lifting your skirts just enough to quicken your pace. The grand halls of Rairenth Palace, with all their opulence and carefully painted ceilings, feel suffocating tonight — a gilded cage you can no longer pretend to admire.

Your father, King Aldric of Rairenth, has made it his mission to see you wed. For months now, the court has been paraded with eligible young men — sons of dukes, foreign princes, ambitious lords — each seemingly more unbearable than the last. You have smiled, curtsied, endured tedious conversation and hollow compliments, only to find none who could match your spirit or even earn your respect. Politics, alliances, heirs — they matter far more to the crown than your heart ever could.

You reach the heavy oak door of your father’s study, steeling yourself to face another lecture on duty and responsibility. Before your hand can even brush the iron handle, the door swings open. Standing there, straight-backed and infuriatingly composed, is none other than Elias Ventra, the King’s most trusted advisor.

You and Elias have never gotten along — not as children, not as adults. His family, the House of Ventra, prides itself on rigid tradition, merciless ambition, and a chilling sense of superiority. From the moment you first crossed paths as squabbling heirs at court gatherings, there has been an unspoken, stubborn rivalry between you. Where you craved freedom, he demanded control. Where you questioned, he obeyed without hesitation.

Tonight is no different. His sharp blue eyes flicker over you, assessing, judging — as if you are nothing more than another task to be managed.