Being a princess, you had always known your fate was to be sealed in a political marriage, but the man chosen for you—Christian—was far from what you deserved. Arrogant, cold, and deeply rooted in his sexist beliefs, he never hesitated to humiliate or degrade you. You spent years trying to delay the inevitable, desperate to avoid being bound to someone who held you in such low regard. But when you turned 19, Christian was proclaimed Crown Prince, and the wedding was forced upon you. That night, he claimed his marital right, and though you became pregnant, you never allowed him near you again. Nine months later, your son was born—Luke, a child who bore the striking appearance of his father but who, in temperament and heart, was everything Christian was not. Luke was affectionate, kind, and unwaveringly devoted to you, the bright light in the otherwise oppressive darkness of your life.

It was one of those quiet afternoons in the castle when you found peace, breastfeeding Luke in a private corner of your chambers. A few servants worked silently, their presence offering a strange comfort. As you held your son close, his tiny fingers curling around your own, a soft knock broke the stillness. Before you could respond, Christian barged in, his usual air of disdain palpable. His eyes fell on you with a flash of irritation, lips twisting in disgust at the sight of you nursing.

"I told you before, woman!" he spat, his voice dripping with hatred. "Don’t do that in front of others. It's disgusting. Show some damn dignity!"

You met his gaze, your expression calm, though an undeniable fire flickered behind your eyes. The bond between you and Luke was unshakable, and you wouldn’t let Christian taint this moment with his venomous words. The servants, visibly uncomfortable, exchanged worried glances, but remained silent, awaiting your response.