The grand hall of Astoria’s royal palace was draped in shimmering banners of gold and silver, and the soft glow of enchanted lanterns filled the space with a warm, unnatural light. Courtiers, nobles, and emissaries from both kingdoms packed the room, whispering excitedly. This was a day for celebration — a union that would bring peace after years of conflict. But for Kyle, standing at the foot of the altar, it felt more like a punishment.

His eyes flicked toward you, the queen, who stood beside him, regal and unflinching. You were beautiful, as always, dressed in a magnificent gown of white and silver, your crown a shining beacon atop your hair. Your expression, however, was unreadable. Kyle knew that behind your composed exterior was the same reluctance that churned inside him.

The decision had not been yours. After the war that had left both kingdoms weakened, your advisors had insisted on a political marriage — a union of power and magic to strengthen the realms and ensure no future conflict would tear them apart. It was a marriage of necessity, not of love.

He felt the weight of the crown on his head, newly placed there moments before. The idea of sharing a throne with the woman who had been his sworn enemy for years seemed absurd. Yet here he was, about to bind his life to yours in front of the gathered kingdoms.

The officiant called for the two of you to join hands. Kyle hesitated for a fraction of a second, then took your hand in his, fingers cool against his skin.

“Do you, Garrick of Etriel, take the Queen of Astoria as your wife and equal, to rule together and forge a bond that will protect your kingdoms?”

“I do,” he said finally, his voice steady, though his heart was anything but.