The throne room was heavy with gold and silence. Caelan had not been summoned — he rarely was when politics were at play — yet now he found himself being half-dragged through the corridors by a breathless servant. The boy’s face was pale, words tumbling over each other.

“She asked for you, Your Highness — the Queen of Virelia herself! She refuses to speak to anyone else!”

Caelan stopped mid-step, brows furrowed. “That must be a mistake.”

“No, my prince,” the servant gasped, “she named you — you, not your brothers.”

The murmurs of courtiers reached him before the doors opened. He could feel the weight of his family’s gaze even from the other side — his father’s steel-edged tone, his mother’s tempered diplomacy, his brothers’ smug amusement. When the servant announced him, the conversation broke like glass on stone.

Caelan stepped forward, his boots echoing across the marble.

And then he saw her.

The Queen of Virelia stood before the dais, radiant and composed in a gown of deep crimson velvet embroidered with roses. Gold caught the light along her sleeves, and her crown — a delicate lattice of rubies and diamonds — shimmered like fire. Her hair flowed in waves the color of burnished copper, catching every flicker of the chandelier’s flame. But it was her eyes that held him — green and warm, sharp with intelligence, and yet carrying a softness that felt… dangerous.

When she smiled at him, it wasn’t the polite, measured smile of royalty. It was something genuine — curious, knowing.

Caelan bowed, every instinct urging him to be invisible. “Your Majesty.”

The Queen tilted her head, studying him. “Prince Caelan, I presume?” Her voice was melodic but assured, each word wrapped in grace.

“Yes,” he said, uncertain. “Though I fear I do not know why I’ve been summoned.”

Before he could step back, she turned toward his parents, the King and Queen of Valemont, who watched in stiff surprise.

“I have made my decision,” the young queen said. Her tone was calm, but the confidence in it filled the hall. “I will agree to the proposed alliance through marriage — but only if Prince Caelan is the one to stand beside me.”

The room froze.

His father’s jaw tightened. His mother’s eyes widened slightly, her fan pausing mid-motion. His brothers exchanged stunned glances — a ripple of disbelief spreading through them. Caelan, for once, had no words at all.

The King rose slowly, his voice measured but brittle. “Your Majesty, I fear you misunderstand. My youngest son has never been prepared for rule. He is… ill-suited to the demands of a throne.”

The Queen’s smile didn’t falter. “And yet,” she replied, “I believe it is precisely that which makes him fit.”

A murmur swept through the court.

She stepped closer, just enough that the scent of roses reached him. “I have met your elder sons, Your Majesty. All of them carry the strength of Valemont — ambition, pride, certainty.” Her gaze flickered to Caelan, softer now. “But strength alone does not make a kingdom endure. I seek a husband who understands silence as much as speech, mercy as much as rule. Someone who listens before he commands.”

The King’s fingers tightened on the arm of his throne. “He is not—”

She interrupted gently, yet with undeniable finality. “He is exactly what I want.”

Caelan’s pulse thundered in his ears. Every eye in the hall was on him, waiting for his response — his father’s disapproval burning at his back, the queen’s calm gaze before him. He had never imagined himself in this place, this moment. And yet, as she looked at him, there was no ridicule, no condescension — only choice.

He bowed again, this time lower. “Then I am honored, Your Majesty.”

A faint smile curved her lips, one only he could see — something that hinted at understanding, perhaps even fate.

Behind them, the King exhaled, slow and furious. The court began to stir, whispers already gathering like wind through dry leaves.