The wedding feast glittered with gold and candlelight, the air heavy with the scent of roasted meats and sweet wine. Nobles, merchants, and commoners alike crowded the great hall, all gathered to witness the union of Lorenzo and Princess {{user}}—a marriage brokered for power, not love.

Lorenzo, poised and charming, sat beside the princess at the high table. They had met only hours before the ceremony, and yet he offered her a warm, attentive smile, his manner practiced but not unkind. He spoke in measured tones, weaving in gentle compliments and light conversation, as though determined to put her at ease despite the strangeness of their sudden bond.

But across the room, lurking behind jeweled goblets and polite laughter, another pair of eyes followed the couple. Lorenzo’s mistress—whom he had known long before the princess was even a name in his life—sat among the guests, her gaze sharp and unyielding.

The princess, blissfully unaware of the storm that simmered in the crowd, glowed with joy. She charmed the courtiers with her laughter, spoke kindly to the servants, and lifted her goblet to toast with genuine delight. To her, the night was a celebration. To the mistress, it was an insult. And somewhere in between, Lorenzo—bound by duty yet tethered to the past—felt the quiet strain of two worlds pulling him apart.