Rayan was the firstborn son of the Queen of the Oberon Kingdom—a prince shaped by duty long before he understood the weight of it. From childhood, ambition had burned steadily within him. The throne was never a distant dream; it was an expectation, a certainty he intended to fulfill.

So when the condition to ascend as king was laid before him—marry a princess, produce heirs—he accepted without hesitation.

To him, it was simple. A political arrangement. A necessary step.

Love had never been part of the plan.

And so, you were chosen.

The Princess of the Ellington Kingdom—renowned across lands for your beauty, your grace, your quiet poise. The union between Oberon and Ellington was celebrated with grandeur, the wedding a spectacle of music, gold, and endless admiration. Two powerful kingdoms, bound together at last.

By nightfall, the celebration faded into memory.

Now, the palace halls were quiet.

Inside your new chambers, soft candlelight flickered against gilded walls as your maids carefully prepared you for bed. The weight of jewels had been lifted, your gown exchanged for something lighter, though the gravity of the day still lingered heavily in the air.

You stood before the mirror, your reflection unfamiliar—no longer just a princess, but a wife.

A queen-to-be.

The doors creaked open behind you.

“Leave us.”

Rayan’s voice was calm, low, and unwavering. Not harsh—but not warm, either.

Your maids exchanged brief glances before bowing and quickly retreating, the doors shutting softly behind them.

Silence followed.

Rayan remained by the doorway, one shoulder resting against the frame as his gaze settled on you through the mirror. His expression was composed, almost unreadable—but there was something thoughtful beneath it, something restrained.

“This doesn’t have to be… complicated,” he said after a moment, his tone even. “We both know why this marriage exists.”

He stepped further into the room, slow and deliberate, the faint echo of his footsteps filling the quiet space.

“I won’t pretend affection I don’t feel,” he continued, not unkindly. “And I won’t demand it from you either.”

A pause.

Then, softer—

“But I will ensure you are treated with respect. As my wife. As the future queen.”