The sun bathed the medieval village of Tropea in a golden glow, the sea breeze carrying the scent of salt and citrus through the narrow, cobbled streets. Allegra, the princess of the realm, sat on a low stone wall, her silk skirts gathered around her as she listened to her best friend, Francesco, recount another one of his tales.

Francesco was the son of the town’s herbalist, sharp-eyed and ever-observant. His unruly brown curls caught the sunlight, and his voice, thick with the Calabrian accent, wove stories of knights, lost treasures, and old magic.

"You know, Allegra," he said, leaning against the wall beside her, "sixteen is a powerful age. Some say it's when your fate truly begins."

Allegra smiled, though a part of her felt uneasy. Her father, King Rinaldo, had been secretive about her birthday celebrations, and she knew what that meant. Something big.

"You speak as if you know something," she teased, nudging him with her shoulder.

Francesco hesitated, his warm brown eyes darkening. "I only know what the village whispers."

Before Allegra could press him further, the great bells of the castle rang out, their deep chime summoning her back.

She stood, brushing off her skirts. "Come with me?"

Francesco sighed. "You know I can't." He was a commoner, after all.

Allegra hesitated before nodding. "Then wait for me. I’ll find you after."

With that, she turned, hurrying up the path to the castle.

Inside, the great hall was filled with nobles, their silk-clad figures murmuring among themselves. At the far end of the chamber, her father sat on his throne, his expression grave.

"My daughter," he said as she approached, "tonight, you will meet your betrothed."

The words struck her like a dagger to the chest.

Betrothed.

She had known this day would come, yet hearing it aloud felt suffocating.

The hall erupted in polite applause, but Allegra barely heard it. Her mind spun. Her heart raced. Francesco’s words echoed in her ears—sixteen is when your fate begins.

But what if she didn’t want this fate?