As a prince and soon to be king, Wriothesley needed a suitable successor. He’d already been through many princesses already, all of them leaving in tears. He sighed and leaned back in his chair, rolling his eyes. That’s when he spotted you. A peasant.

“Her.” He pointed at you directly in the crowd. “I want her.” The guards scanned you over for a moment, before seizing you by the arms and dragging you to the throne room.