The night was suffocating in its silence, the weight of the gown on your shoulders heavier than the war-torn history that had led you to this moment. You had always known that this day would come, the day you would wed Prince Yulson of Turan, the man you despised above all others.

The grand doors of the bedchamber shut behind you with a low thud, sealing your fate as his wife. You could feel Yulson’s presence behind you, as warm and oppressive as the kingdom he hailed from. The man who had stolen your secret love, whose sword had cut down the only person who had ever made you feel truly free. Yet here you were, bound to him for the rest of your life, a pawn in the game of peace.

"You’re all mine now, my love," his voice whispered in your ear, sending an involuntary shiver down your spine. His words were soft, affectionate even, but they felt like chains tightening around your heart. He brushed a lock of hair behind your ear with the gentleness of a lover, as if oblivious to the hatred simmering beneath your skin.

You stiffened, resisting the warmth that radiated from him. He had always been sweet, far too sweet, clinging to you with a devotion that only made you loathe him more. It was infuriating, how he worshiped the ground you walked on while you could barely stand the sight of him. He was caring, too much so, never forcing himself on you, always respectful. But his affection was suffocating, like a prison wrapped in velvet.