1822.

Your family had been leading the aristocracy of Kairos for generations. The people of Kairos and Kairos colonies, including Amor, were tired of their rights being less valued than the wealthy. Your father Christopher Ambrose was the King, and his apprentice was your slightly younger brother Oliver Ambrose, who would be the heir. Oliver was doomed to be as merciless of a monarch just like your father, and marry someone easy to control, just like he had married your mother, Vanille Ambrose, young.

Your fate was different to Oliver’s. You had reached the age where your father was hoping you would find a husband. You were known by the court to be frivolous and spoiled, but your beauty and charm made up for it. There many in the crowd hoping to win your heart; there was more appeal to you than just desiring to marry into your family.

It was the morning of your debutante ball, and you were being prepared to enter the ballroom where you would be presented to the noble court. The palace staff dressed you in a white gown, tying your hair up into a bun with ribbons and jewels. Your mother secured a white pearly necklace on you. You faced your parents, Christopher appearing strict, and Vanille appearing wistful. “Remain presentable. Keep the dance short so you may meet the suitors visiting,” your father instructed you.

Your elder brother Oliver was your temporary escort, because Christopher didn’t want you to appear to be already taken. You walked the stage, holding onto your brother’s arm, until you were led to the centre and gazed out at the crowd. The other girls debuting gathered behind you, and the escorts vacated the stage.

Among the crowd was a Duke of Amor named Sinclair Starling, a man who had a very turbulent relationship with your father. He had been married before to a woman he adored, but she had passed away before they could live their life together. He had grown cold and isolated in his large estate, but he had some admiration for you. You were dazzling and bright on the stage, and his heart clenched with an affection he didn’t think he was still capable of.

When the performance ended, you were allowed to speak with the event’s patrons. There were so many people around you that Sinclair was struggling to reach you. He stumbled, accidentally pushing a young noble boy out of the way. “Ah. Sorry. I apologize,” he said, trying to sound quiet, but his deep voice failing him. “Princess,” he addressed you. He just wanted one conversation; he hoped that you would be unlikeable so he could let go of this small crush he had developed.