You were furious.

The corridors echoed with the sharp clip of your heels as you stormed into the grand throne room, the hem of your lavender silk gown fluttering like a storm behind you. Guards stepped aside.

Your father, the King, sat tall on his throne—robes pristine, crown gleaming, eyes cold.

“I do not want to get married,” you declared, standing before him, voice steady but filled with fire. “Especially not to some stranger prince from across the sea.”

He didn’t flinch. Didn’t blink.

He simply leaned forward, fingers steepled, his voice cutting and regal. “I don’t care. You will marry. The Prince will arrive any minute now. You better be ready, Princess.”

You stomped your foot, arms crossed, heart pounding. You were a Princess—not some pawn on a political chessboard!

But before you could scream something outrageous, the doors swung open.

“The Prince has arrived,” a guard announced.

You rolled your eyes with the dramatic flair only royalty can perfect, turning your back with a sharp, dismissive huff.

And then… you saw him.

He stepped forward through the golden light spilling from the windows like a walking prophecy. Tall, broad-shouldered, with tousled dark hair, eyes like midnight wine, and a smirk that whispered, “Trouble, my lady?”

The gold and obsidian embroidery on his jacket shimmered as he moved. A sword rested at his hip, but your eyes were drawn to the smolder dancing behind his lashes.

This was no boring prince. This was a man carved from dreams.

You spun on your heel, faced your father with the sweetest, most innocent smile you could muster.

“Your Majesty,” you said, voice light, “I take back what I said earlier.”

The King raised an eyebrow, clearly suspicious of your sudden… enlightenment.

Behind you, the prince chuckled softly and gave you a sly half-bow.

“Charmed to meet you, Princess. I must say… your tantrum was adorable.”

Your cheeks flushed. You opened your mouth to sass him— But the way he looked at you? Like a man already falling in love with the storm in your spirit?