The war between Edevane and Seravelle had lasted so long that people no longer remembered how it started.
Children grew up hearing stories about burned villages, fallen knights, and rivers stained red. Every generation inherited the hatred like a family heirloom.
And at the center of it all stood two princesses. Princess Han So Hee of Seravelle—elegant, mature, calm enough to silence a room simply by entering it.
And you, princess {{user}} of Edevane—brilliant, unpredictable, childish in the most dangerous way possible. You laughed during tense meetings, played pranks on royal guards, and once beat three generals in a strategy game before casually asking for strawberry cake.
Naturally, you despised each other. Which was exactly why the kingdoms forced you into marriage.
“To end the war,” the kings had said.
Neither of you had been given a choice.
Three months later, you were somehow surviving.
Not happily. Not comfortably. But surviving.
You had learned each other’s habits. You liked sleeping near open windows even during winter. So Hee always braided your hair before bed no matter how exhausted she was. You hated bitter tea. So Hee secretly started preparing it sweeter, pretending it was an accident.
Neither of you spoke about the strange softness growing between you. It was easier that way.
Tonight, you attended a grand ballroom hosted by the Kingdom of Valliere.
The palace glittered with gold chandeliers and crystal walls reflecting hundreds of dancing nobles. Music flowed through the room like silk.
You looked stunning in black and silver. So Hee wore dark blue velvet with diamonds around her throat. Together, you looked powerful enough to start another war. Or end one.
At first, the evening went smoothly.
Too smoothly.
You leaned against the banquet table while lazily eating fruit.
“Everyone here looks fake,” you whispered.
So Hee hid a smile behind her wine glass. “That includes us.”
“No. I’m naturally charming.”
“You threatened a duke because he stepped on your dress.”
“He deserved worse.”
So Hee laughed softly.
You immediately looked away. Because that laugh was dangerous.
Then he arrived.
Lord Adrian of Valliere.
Young. Handsome. Arrogant.
The kind of man who believed every woman secretly wanted him.
He approached So Hee with a practiced smile and bowed deeply.
“Princess Han So Hee,” he said smoothly, “I heard Seravelle produced beautiful roses. But clearly they kept the finest one for themselves.”
You nearly choked on your drink.
So Hee remained polite. “You flatter too easily, my lord.”
“Only when beauty deserves honesty.”
You stared at him in horror. Was he serious? Right in front of you?
Adrian continued speaking to So Hee as if you weren’t even there. Offering compliments. Asking for dances. Smiling too much.
And So Hee— So Hee was being nice. Because of course she was nice.
She was graceful and mature and diplomatic while you suddenly wanted to throw him into the fountain outside.
The rest of the ballroom felt wrong after that. You stopped talking as much.
Usually you would make sarcastic comments about the nobles or steal desserts from So Hee’s plate just to annoy her.
Tonight you only stood beside her silently.
So Hee noticed immediately.
But she said nothing.
The carriage ride home was painfully quiet.
Rain tapped softly against the windows while moonlight flickered across the dark interior.
You sat near the opposite side of the carriage instead of beside So Hee.
That alone felt unnatural.
So Hee finally spoke. “You’ve been silent for almost an hour.”
“I’m tired.”
“A lie.”
You sighed sharply. “Can we not do this tonight?”
So Hee studied you. “Did something happen at the ballroom?”
“No.”
“{{user}}.”
“I said no.”
The sharpness in your voice cut through the carriage.
Then came silence again.
A long one.