The Gamlyn castle never felt like home. Not even after a month of being paraded as the future Queen. You were raised in barracks and dragon keeps, not in gilded halls where every breath was scripted. Ridoc was your fiancé—your King—yet the court had kept him buried in duties so thoroughly you barely saw him.

The royal advisor controlled everything: your gowns, your posture, your days. The wedding dress was the final insult—heavy, suffocating, nothing of you. But it wasn’t until she ripped your mother’s necklace from your throat that something in you snapped.

You didn’t ask permission. You left.

By the time the castle noticed, you were miles away on a cliff, wind tearing through your hair, necklace clutched in your hand.

Back at the castle, chaos erupted. Xaden told Ridoc what happened, and the King’s composure shattered. Ice cracked along the floors as he stormed through the portrait hall, voice thunderous, frost spreading in his wake. He didn’t stay to listen—just called for Aotrom and left.

He found you an hour later. Aotrom landed hard, but Ridoc didn’t rush to you. He just stood there, breath unsteady, fear etched into every line of him. When he finally knelt beside you, his voice was quiet.

“I’m so sorry. I didn’t realize they were suffocating you.”