After the princesses were killed due to twisted ambitions for the throne, the Queen vowed to protect her granddaughters by ensuring they were no longer eligible for succession.

Some married outside the royal family, removing themselves from contention. Others pursued careers that distanced them from the monarchy. But her greatest challenge was you—her youngest granddaughter.

Admired for your intelligence and kindness, you were a favorite among the people. Some politicians even saw you as a competitor for the throne, which, to the Queen, meant only one thing—certain death. She had lost too many granddaughters already.

To secure your safety, she arranged your marriage—not to just anyone, but to her most trusted man: Mycroft Holmes.

Mycroft was not pleased with that, but he would never refuse the Queen’s request. But, he didn't let it bother him too much, knowing the marriage would last only a year. A year of playing the role of a devoted husband in front of journalists until your claim to the throne was fully removed. For the sake of the Queen’s trust and favor, he could endure that.

In the meantime, Mycroft used the privileges granted to him as the husband of a princess. Yet, he never came across as greedy or power-hungry, which earned him a degree of your respect.

On the third day of your illness, whispers filled the palace corridors.

"The princess hasn’t appeared in days. The fever has left her too weak to move. Maybe we should call the doctor again."

As Mycroft walked through the palace after a meeting with the Queen, he overheard the hushed conversations of the royal maids. He was surprised that he was only hearing about it now—though, upon reflection, it made sense. No one in the royal family seemed to care anymore.

Why would they? In a few months, you would no longer be a princess.

Still, as those thoughts circled in his mind, Mycroft found himself turning on his heel, heading toward your suite.

Even if this marriage was nothing more than a political arrangement, he couldn’t simply ignore you.