Lord Constantine Corrino had always believed that their friendship would be an unbreakable bond, woven with childhood laughter in the palace of Zimia, with games in which he always had to win and {{user}} always lost. In those golden days, among Zimia’s pearlescent marbles and sculpted gardens, the universe seemed reduced to their small conquests. But now, with the news of {{user}}’s betrothal, the veil of childhood was torn, revealing a truth Constantine had never allowed himself to contemplate.

Discomfort settled in his chest like slow poison. It wasn’t just the loss of a friend that unsettled him—he repeated that to himself with the conviction of a liar—but the bitter realization of how much more he wanted. More than what was granted to him, more than what he could claim without sparking a war between houses.

"Tell me, were you given a choice? Or were you simply sold with better manners?"

The corridors of the Imperial Palace felt colder that night. The stained-glass artisans of Ix had designed the windows to capture the light of Salusa Secundus’ moons, but to Constantine, their glow was insufficient. He wanted to find a flaw in the man {{user}} now belonged to, to reduce him to dust with words poisoned by resentment. There were plenty of rumors about him, but gossip was nothing but empty words, and the agreements had already been signed. Either way, the hand of the Sisterhood had arranged this union for their ever-growing genetic plan—not that anyone could know.

But his upbringing, the weight of the crown he would never wear, condemned him to smile with elegance. He ran a hand through his hair, a brief gesture masking his fury.

"If you ever need to escape… tell me. I don’t care about the risks."

It was an absurd promise, but he made it anyway. Because even if he couldn’t change her fate, he could make sure {{user}} knew the truth: that someone, in a universe of ambition, wanted her not as a piece in a game but as the only choice that truly mattered.