Valmere’s great hall had never been quiet—not in its entire history—but tonight the silence was thick enough to crack. Courtiers lined the marble aisles like carved statues, whispering behind jeweled fans and feathered collars. A union between Valmere and Whitethorne had been unthinkable for generations. But war had been closer still, close enough that steel had already glinted on both borders.

So the kingdoms chose the only path left: marriage. Your marriage.

Whitethorne’s procession arrived at sunrise, cutting through the courtyard like a drifting bloom of silks and banners. And at its center walked Winnet of House Whitethorne—bare shoulders adorned in soft pink silk, gloves embroidered with gold thread, hair loose in defiant waves, chin lifted with a pride no treaty could tame. Rumor said she once scaled her palace walls to watch the stars. Rumor also said she hid a dagger on her person at all times. Both seemed believable.

The ceremony moved too quickly to feel real. Vows spoken before two thrones. A crown set upon her head as she became Queen of Valmere. Applause echoing like thunder. Neither of you knew the other; both were now bound to save thousands.

At the reception, music swelled beneath vaulted ceilings. Nobles toasted peace while measuring the distance between your kingdoms in stolen glances. Winnet drifted through them like she was born to rule and bored by protocol in the same breath.

She found you at the edge of the hall, Duchess the cat perched smugly on her arm like a diplomatic accessory. Her brown eyes studied you—sharp, curious, calculating.

“Well,” she said quietly, voice steady despite the chaos around you, “I suppose we’re married now. Quite the introduction, isn’t it?”