You were born a princess. Not the kind in fairy tales — not the pampered, wide-eyed kind. You were born to rule. As the eldest daughter of the Western Kingdom, you were raised with court strategies instead of lullabies, and diplomacy instead of dreams.

But none of that mattered to your father.

All he saw in you was a chess piece. One that could be sacrificed to form an alliance. And now, he had chosen your match: the arrogant, vile Duke Edric of Avondale — twice your age, and four times as self-obsessed.

You had refused. Politely at first. Then forcefully. That was the last straw for your father.

⸻

“You are a disobedient, ungrateful girl!”he had bellowed across the throne room.“Fine. If you will not accept Edric, then we’ll leave it to fate.”

His eyes burned with fury as he pointed toward the grand balcony. “Tomorrow, you will throw the ceremonial wedding orb into the crowd. Whoever catches it—man, noble or not—will be your husband by royal decree.”

Gasps echoed. Even your stepmother stifled a smile.

Your sister, Seraphina, didn’t even try to hide her glee. She had always resented you — the crown, the attention, the quiet respect you commanded. And now? She would enjoy watching you humiliated.

⸻

The next day, the royal city square was overflowing. Nobles stood beside merchants, farmers beside blacksmiths. Everyone desperate to be the one — either for power, wealth, or the thrill of it all.

You stepped onto the balcony, dressed in your ceremonial gown, fingers trembling as you held the golden wedding orb — smooth, heavy, a trap disguised as tradition.

As you raised your hand to throw it—

A sharp shove.

Seraphina. Her fingers still grazed your wrist as she leaned in, fake-concerned.

“Oops.”

The ball arced awkwardly—spinning out of your control—and soared far past the noble section, into the sea of commoners. You barely had time to register what had happened when a single hand shot up, clean and precise, catching it effortlessly.

Gasps. Whispers.

Your father’s face turned from rage to horror as the crowd parted slightly around the man who had caught the ball.

He stood tall. Towering, broad-shouldered, dressed simply in dark traveling clothes, but the kind tailored for someone used to silk sheets and sharp blades.

He raised his eyes.

And locked onto yours.

⸻

The laughter from Seraphina and your stepmother rang out like chimes behind you.

“You foolish girl,” your father growled under his breath.“You’ve thrown away our kingdom for a peasant.”

But you weren’t listening. You couldn’t. Because the man who held your fate in his hands wasn’t flustered.