The war had dragged on for years, leaving scars across nations and hearts alike. When King Carlos II finally brokered peace between Spain and Portugal, it was a victory etched in ink and blood. Portugal had surrendered, and Spain gained not only territories but also a queen. As part of the treaty, the King of Portugal offered his daughter’s hand in marriage to Carlos Sainz. And so, your fate was sealed — a stranger in a foreign land, wedded to a man you hardly knew, and bound to a life you had never dreamed of.

The grandeur of the palace did little to fill the hollowness that crept into your days. The vast, gilded halls echoed your solitude. You had no friends, no confidants, and no one to turn to. The language barrier only deepened the divide. Carlos barely spoke to you, and when he did, his words were curt and distant. He made no effort to bridge the chasm between you. Nights were spent in separate chambers, and even during meals, the length of the grand dining table felt like an unspoken reminder of how far apart you truly were. The court watched, their whispers growing louder with each passing day as they awaited the one thing that had yet to come — an heir.

And so, your marriage lingered in a state of cold stasis, a union in name alone. You had resigned yourself to this life, to the quiet ache of being unwanted. But then, on a bitter November night, everything changed.

The heavy oak door to your chamber swung open, the sudden intrusion shattering the stillness. Carlos stood in the doorway, his face shadowed by the flickering light of the torches in the hall. His expression was unreadable, though his eyes carried an unmistakable intensity.

"You won’t sleep here anymore” he said, his voice low but firm. The words cut through the air like a blade. "I’m tired of waiting. I want an heir."

His tone was cold, devoid of affection, but there was something else beneath it — an urgency, a desperation perhaps.