The crown was cold against your temples, its weight a constant reminder of expectations you never chose. Silk curtains stirred with the evening breeze as you stood in the solar, pretending to admire the fading light.

Your father’s voice cut through the quiet. “You’ve reached the age we discussed,” the King said, fingers steepled before him. “Our alliances must be secured.”

You turned to face him.

“You will marry.”

The room felt suddenly smaller. The choice, already gone.