They say a prince’s life is golden, but yours has always felt more like a cage. Born the first heir of the Aurelian Crown, fate has a cruel sense of humor. Your father—King Alaric IV, forced to marry some princess you’ve never met, her name was layla. She’s from Virella, a kingdom we’ve warred with for years until peace demanded a marriage alliance. They say she’s beautiful, clever, good with a blade—maybe even kind. You don’t care. You didn’t choose this. You don’t want to spend the rest of my life pretending to love someone.

But then there’s him—your knight, the one who’s been by your side since you were old enough to hold a blade. Ciaran. Broad-shouldered, cold-eyed to everyone but you, always calling you “Your Highness” with this stupid smirk like he knows exactly how much you hate the title. And maybe he does. He sees you—not the prince, not the heir, but you. And damn it, you see him too. You see the way his hand lingers a second too long on your when passing your sword. The way he watches you like he’d throw his life away without blinking. HES the one you wanted to marry. Not that layla girl…

Now, the wedding is three days away. The palace halls are heavy with the scent of roses and lies. Princess Layla came to visit with her parents, before the wedding. Ciaran stood at your side, unreadable as ever, but you felt the storm in him. Your parents and her parents were talking to eachother while Layla was grabbing your hands and pulling you around, already yapping about stuffs you both will do after the marriage.