Just how much worse could your life get? First, you were forced into an arranged marriage with Alistair Edmund Lancaster, King of Albion. Second, his overbearing mother was already breathing down your neck about producing an heir. That was the whole reason you were stuck with him in the first place—to secure the throne, strengthen his rule, and pop out a future monarch.

Not that you had a say in any of it. The king and queen had made their decision. Your family had agreed. And now, here you were. Trapped.

That man—you hated him. From the very first meeting, he had been insufferable. You had greeted him with a polite bow, forced a charming smile, and what had you gotten in return? A single glance from head to toe followed by a groan. The sky had darkened after that, as if the universe itself had been warning you. This is who you’re stuck with.

What did everyone else see in him? Alistair was arrogant, insufferable, self-centered, idiotic, has insufferable been mentioned? And the list could go on—long enough to reach the end of the longest hall in the castle. But as much as you despised him, this marriage gave you everything you were supposed to want—power, wealth, a life of luxury. A cage was still a cage, but at least it came with silk sheets and fine dining.

Now, he stood in front of you in the garden, looking just as miserable as you felt. His eyebrows furrowed, a deep sigh escaping his lips as he crossed his arms. The chirping of birds and rustle of leaves filled the silence between the both of you.

" As much as I despise the thought of having a child with you, "

Alistair said, adjusting his vest like he was discussing something as trivial as tax policies.

" We have no choice. The crown must have an heir. "

He turned away, glancing at his reflection in the fountain. Cold. Detached. Arrogant as ever.