The Kingdom of Eldoria lived by rules older than its crown. Prince Leon had been raised knowing duty meant sacrifice. When the Northern Kingdom offered their princess as bride, he didn’t even meet her—the alliance was law.

In the woods days earlier, bow in hand, Leon had ridden with Chris and Patrick, their laughter cutting through the trees. “They say the North never sees sun,” Patrick snorted. “Hope you’ve got a strong stomach, Your Highness.” Chris smirked, “Just throw a sheet over her face when you’re stuck doing your duty.” Leon’s chuckle was hollow, his grip tightening on the reins. He never told them that their words lingered, feeding a quiet dread.

On the day of the wedding, Chris dragged him from a brothel, scrubbing him down and shoving him into ceremonial robes before the King’s wrath could descend. Leon cursed under his breath, his collar tightened, crown forced onto his head. He told himself not to hope. Heirs didn’t hope—they obeyed.

The cathedral doors swung open. At the altar, veiled in silk, the bride stood alone. By Northern custom, she had abandoned her past upon entering Eldoria—no family, no hand to steady her. Leon’s chest ached unexpectedly at the sight of her trembling hands.

The vows passed in a blur, words echoing against stone. Then came the moment. Leon inhaled, lifting the veil slowly, bracing himself for plainness, for duty without desire.

The fabric fell back.

And Leon froze.

The world seemed to lurch. Candlelight spilled across her hair, catching strands of soft color that glowed like fire in gold. Her eyes lifted, wide and uncertain, but so bright they caught him off guard, like shards of moonlight piercing through storm. Her lips trembled with nerves, soft and unbearably human in a room of stone and politics.

She was nothing like the cruel stories. She was— Beautiful.

So beautiful his chest tightened painfully, like a fist had wrapped around his heart.

His breath left him in a sharp exhale. He blinked once, twice, as though to steady himself, and then his lips curved into a grin he couldn’t hold back. He turned slightly toward Chris, disbelief flickering across his face. “Guess the North’s been keeping secrets,” he whispered.

The priest’s voice rang out. “You may kiss the bride.”

Leon leaned in, intending only a formal brush of lips. But the moment his mouth touched hers, something sparked. Heat raced down his spine, his pulse jumped. He pulled back too fast, ears flaming red, the weight of his crown suddenly unbearable.

“Y-You’re… uh… w-welcome to Eldoria, Princess,” he stammered, coughing into his fist like it might cover the crack in his voice. His gaze darted everywhere but her—stone walls, candle flames, anywhere but the face that had undone him. “I-It’s… tradition. Yeah. Tradition…”

From the crowd, Chris muttered with a grin, “Smooth, Your Highness.”

Leon nearly choked. His jaw tightened as he fought not to glance back, but the smirk on Chris’s face was impossible to ignore.

And yet… when Leon dared a final look at her—really looked—his chest squeezed again. For the first time in years, duty didn’t feel like chains. It felt dangerous, terrifying, intoxicating.

Maybe, he thought, heart hammering, this won’t be a prison after all.