The princess stood beneath the vaulted ceiling of the grand chapel, its gold-leafed arches shimmering in the candlelight as the entire kingdom bore witness. Every breath felt like a weight in her chest, yet she kept her chin lifted, her hands steady, doing everything in her power to play the role carved out for her long before she was born. An arranged marriage. A duty. A destiny she had never chosen.

Prince George of Elvenstorn stood beside her, regal and composed, offering a polite smile she could not bring herself to return. He was a good man—kind, loyal, gentle—but not the man who held her heart.

Her gaze remained forward, unblinking, until a flicker of movement caught her eye. By the towering doors of the chapel stood Sir Henry, captain of the royal army—her knight. The man she loved. His armor gleamed like starlight, yet his eyes held a storm she felt in her very soul. He was guarding the ceremony, as was his duty… but she knew he was also guarding what remained of his heart.

For a moment, the world fell away. The murmurs, the music, the rustle of silk—everything blurred until only Henry remained. Memories surged: stolen glances in moonlit corridors, whispered promises in the gardens, the warmth of his hand closing around hers as though he feared she might vanish.

Now, he stood so close she could have reached for him… yet impossibly far.

Her throat tightened. Her heart splintered.

Then the officiant’s voice rang out, solemn and heavy, sealing her fate with a single question:

“Princess of Alora… do you take Prince George of Elvenstorn as your lawful husband?”

The chapel fell into silence. The kingdom waited. And all she could hear was the sound of her own breaking heart.