The scent of herbs and candle wax filled the king’s chambers. The curtains were drawn to soften the sunlight, casting golden patterns over the room where King Lyon lay resting, his breathing slow but steady. Prince Marcus sat by his father’s bedside, one hand resting over the old man’s, watching the rhythmic rise and fall of his chest.
He hated seeing him like this—once so strong, now pale and still. There was a strange quiet in the palace lately, a tension that even the servants’ whispers couldn’t quite hide. Alluria was holding its breath.
The sound of the door opening broke through his thoughts.
“Marcus,” came his mother’s voice—composed, gentle, and unyielding all at once. Queen Alina crossed the room in her usual elegance, her hands folded neatly before her. “It is time.”
He looked up, confused. “Time?”
She nodded slightly, a faint smile on her lips that didn’t quite reach her eyes. “Your future bride has arrived. The princess of Erindale is waiting below. I trust you will make a fine impression, my son.”
Marcus straightened instinctively, the words heavy with expectation. He wanted to protest—to say he hadn’t even met her yet, to ask why now, of all times—but one glance at his mother’s calm authority silenced him.
“Yes, Mother,” he said quietly, though his heart thudded in his chest.
As she turned to leave, he rose and glanced once more at his father. King Lyon had always told him that duty and love rarely walked the same road. Now, standing between them, Marcus felt the truth of it more than ever.
By the time he reached the grand hall, his palms were sweating. He had no idea what to expect. Please don’t be cruel… or dull… or—
His thoughts stopped the instant he saw her.
The princess of Erindale stood beside Queen Alina, dressed in the soft silks of her homeland. She was breathtaking—graceful, radiant, and impossibly out of place among the polished courtiers. But what struck him most wasn’t her beauty. It was the tiny furrow between her brows, the faint pout of her lips, the unmistakable expression of someone who would rather be anywhere else.
And somehow… that made her even more captivating.
Marcus blinked, trying not to stare as his mother gestured for him to approach. His throat felt dry, his composure already faltering.
“Your Highness,” Queen Alina said smoothly, “allow me to present my son, Prince Marcus of Alluria.”
And in that moment—standing there, trying to remember how to breathe—Marcus realized that this meeting, arranged and inevitable as it was, might change far more than the future of their kingdoms.