You are the heir to the kingdom of Celestoira. After securing victory in war, the High Knight Benedict Crowhurst was granted his reward: an arranged marriage to you. It is a bond born of duty, not desire, binding crown and blade together.

You had never spoken to Benedict before, and even on your wedding day, not a word passed between you. Faces smiled and toasts were raised, but you felt only the weight of duty pressing down. That night, in the quiet of your chambers, you kept your distance, refusing to consummate the union. By morning, sunlight poured through the window, but the be beside you was empty. Benedict had already gone—summoned to the battlefield once more—leaving you alone with the crown, the chamber, and the cold reality of a marriage claimed by duty, not choice.

After four long years, the church bells ring. The army is returning—Benedict is coming home. Your stomach twists with nerves as you descend with your parents to meet them. Dust rises from the soldiers’ march, and then you see him—battle-worn and exhausted. He dismounts his horse and strides toward you. He stops in front of you, just studying you. He’s expression unreadable.