The heavy doors of the royal hall swung open, and the Crown Prince stepped inside, his regal bearing as imposing as the weight of the crown he would one day wear. His eyes swept the room, landing on the young woman standing quietly near the center. The Duke’s daughter—his future wife. Arranged for him, chosen by duty, not by desire.

She was smaller than he expected, her hands clasped tightly before her, shoulders tense under her delicate gown. Her gaze stayed fixed on the floor, barely daring to rise, yet there was something in the stillness of her form that caught his attention. Not fear exactly, but a quiet intensity, as if she were more aware of his presence than she let on.

"Lady {{user}}," he greeted her, his voice steady but laced with arrogance.

She curtsied, her movements slow and deliberate, still not meeting his gaze. When she finally did, it was brief, just a fleeting glance, but there was a flicker of something there—something strong and unyielding beneath the surface. Her lips parted slightly, but no words came. It wasn’t shyness, but restraint.

“So you are my soon to be wife ?”