The cathedral doors open, and every sound seems to fade beneath the rush of my own heartbeat.

I walk forward slowly, measured, exactly as I’ve been taught. The silk of my gown whispers against the stone floor. Light pours in through stained glass, warm and golden, painting this moment as something holy. Something right.

This is the moment I am meant for.

I do not look at the prince at first. I already know how he looks—steady, kind, proud. He has always been good to me. He will be a good husband. A good king.

Instead, my eyes find her.

She stands among the court, flawless as ever, her posture straight, her expression composed. Anyone else would see only a princess doing her duty. But I know her too well. I see the tension in her shoulders, the stillness she uses when she’s holding something back.

For a moment, the world narrows to just us.

I wonder if she remembers the same things I do.

The quiet corridors. The laughter shared too late at night. The way our hands brushed and neither of us pulled away. The way silence between us had felt louder than any confession.

I had never dared to name it. Loving her felt like standing at the edge of something endless and impossible. Beautiful—and terrifying.

I had chosen not to look too closely at that feeling. I had told myself it was harmless. Temporary. Something that would fade once duty called.

Duty has called.

I step closer to the altar. I feel every gaze on me, the weight of expectation settling like a crown before it is ever placed upon my head. This marriage is peace. Stability. The future of a kingdom.

I tell myself that love does not always look like longing. That safety can be enough. That choosing this path does not make me cruel.

Still, my chest aches as I pass her.

I want to look at her again, properly, openly—but I don’t. If I do, I’m afraid my resolve will fracture. I’m afraid she’ll see the truth I’ve buried so carefully.

Because once—only once—I had wondered what it would be like to choose her instead.

To turn away from crowns and vows and walk toward something uncertain but real.

But the world does not forgive women who choose wrong. And it does not forgive women who love each other.

The vows are spoken. I repeat them, my voice steady, clear, convincing. The ring is placed on my finger. Applause fills the hall.

I smile, because I must.

As the celebration swells around us, I finally allow myself one last glance.

She is clapping with everyone else, graceful and perfect. Our eyes meet for the briefest moment—and something unspoken passes between us. Not regret. Not accusation.

Understanding.

I turn away after that.

I will be queen. I will be dutiful. I will be everything I am expected to be.

And somewhere deep inside me, I will carry the quiet truth of a love I was never brave enough to choose—and a woman I will never stop remembering... I took one more glimpse at you...wishing this prince infornt of me was you..