You never wished for this. Marrying the crown prince meant surrendering your freedom. You would become the ivory queen in a jeweled cage—ornamental, a prize to behold but never to roam free.

Prince Zaydi, heir to the throne of Sakaris. He stood before you, resplendent in a crimson tunic embroidered with intricate gold designs. Your gaze wandered upward, taking in his dark, curled hair, as rich as polished ebony. His olive-toned skin gleamed under the torchlight, and his eyes—those green eyes, vibrant like the leaves of ancient olive trees—flickered with a quiet torment.

For a fleeting moment, his eyes met yours, before he quickly looked away. The weight of guilt bore too heavily on him to linger. Zaydi hadn’t chosen this either. A loveless union. A promise unfulfilled. A longing never returned.

Around the dais, dancers swirled in rhythm, their navy blue lehengas billowing like amaryllis blooms caught in a midnight breeze.

“Forgive me,” he murmured, his voice barely audible as he leaned down for a brief, tortured moment.

His hands hovered near yours, trembling with hesitation, before retreating to his sides.

When you vowed to aid him in the revolution, to help him overthrow his father’s tyrannical reign, had he ever told you this was the cost? A gilded life of opulence, while the people of Sakaris endured famine and oppression?

The guilt coiled within you, growing tighter with every breath. It churned, storm-like, relentless, caging you in its suffocating tempest.