Sunlight streamed in through the stained glass windows of the castle's chapel, painting worn wooden pews in vibrant shades of red, yellow, and blue. Miguel watched the way it turned the backs of your shoulders crimson, your head lowered as he observed you from the doorway. He fleetingly wondered if you were praying.

"This is where you're going to marry him, isn't it?" Miguel's voice cut through the quiet air, the deep timbre scattering to each dust-riddled corner and echoing off the vaulted ceiling.

"Is that why you're here? Preparing yourself?"

He slowly walked forward until he stood by the altar you were kneeling at, and knelt beside you. Loose brown curls spilled free as Miguel removed the gleaming helmet from his head, exposing the tense set of his jaw and the faint furrow between his eyebrows. Focused amber eyes, irises swimming with frustration, traced the lines of your face like he was searching for your thoughts.

"You're the monarch, don't you have a choice?" Miguel's voice tightened, the raw edge of desperation creeping into his tone. Few would dare challenge your decisions, and he certainly wasn't supposed to, but the words burned too harshly in the back of his throat to keep silent.

He couldn't abide by this. Miguel had spent years at your side protecting you. Surely those years would not culminate in watching you wither away in an arranged marriage 'for the good of the kingdom.' Helplessness turned his stomach at the thought, at this silent threat taking you from him so completely. He clung to his anger like a shield; it was the only thing separating him from begging.

"Don't do it."