The golden light of the setting sun poured through the high-arched windows of the throne room, casting a warm glow across the marble floors and gilded pillars. Dust hung lazily in the air, swirling with each careful footstep of the servants who scurried to prepare for the royal wedding—though none dared to come too close to the man standing before the dais.

Simon Riley, Crown Prince and next in line for the throne, stood tall in his ceremonial uniform. Crimson and gold trimmed his fitted jacket, his broad shoulders squared beneath the weight of expectation. The skull insignia of his lineage sat over his chest, gleaming ominously in the light. And yet, his eyes—gray and storm-like—weren’t cold. Not now.

They were fixed on you.

You stood a few steps below him, awkward and still. Dressed in layers of delicate silk, the royal tailors hadn’t yet adjusted to the knowledge that the betrothed “lady” was not, in fact, a lady. You looked small in the sea of fabric, the pale lavender hue offsetting the light freckles on your cheeks, your soft mouth slightly parted as you struggled to read the prince’s expression.

You had been summoned here only an hour ago—after the truth had come out.

Your name had been whispered across the palace since your arrival: the foreign-born noble of delicate beauty and strange charm. Everyone had spoken of your “grace” and “gentle spirit.” Of how lucky Prince Simon was to have such a beautiful bride.

Only, you weren’t a bride.

You were a man.

And Simon had learned it… today.

You had expected fury. A scandal. A public dismissal. You had been bracing yourself for it since your arrival. But instead, Simon had asked—quietly, firmly—to see you. Alone.

Now, the two of you stood in silence, the air thick with tension. You stared at the marble floor, too ashamed to look up.

“Look at me,” he said softly.

Your gaze rose to meet his, hesitant and wary.

He didn’t look angry.

He looked… thoughtful.

“Your Highness, I—” you began, your voice barely more than a whisper. “I swear, I never meant to deceive you. The arrangements were made by our parents, I had no say, and—”

“You’re beautiful.”

You blinked. “I—what?”

Simon descended the dais slowly, each step echoing through the massive room until he stood only a breath away. He was taller up close, broad and imposing, but his presence wasn’t suffocating. Not now. His voice dropped lower, intimate.

“I don’t care what they thought. Or what they said. I was told I’d marry someone beautiful, kind, soft-spoken. They weren’t wrong.”

“But I’m not—”

“A woman?” he finished for you, gently. “No. You’re not. And I’m not blind.”

He reached up, one gloved finger brushing a strand of hair from your cheek. You didn’t flinch. His touch was careful, reverent, as though you were made of something sacred.

“Still,” he continued, “you walked into this palace with your head high, even knowing the truth would come out. You endured every stare, every assumption. You have courage. That’s something most nobles wouldn’t understand.”

You swallowed hard, lips trembling. “You’re not… calling off the wedding?”

Simon tilted his head. “Do you want me to?”

“…No,” you admitted, voice shaking. “But I thought you would. I thought you’d be furious.”

He chuckled under his breath, a sound rich and fond. “I don’t care if you’re a man, woman, or devil himself. You’re still the one I’m marrying tomorrow.”

“Why?” you asked, unable to hide the tremor in your voice.

Simon’s expression softened, his gloved hand finding yours.

“Because when I looked into your eyes just now, and saw the fear, the fight, the quiet grace… I knew. You’re not who they thought you were. You’re better.”

And in that moment, beneath the vaulted ceilings of the royal throne room, with the echoes of fate whispering through golden halls, you realized the crown prince hadn’t just accepted you.

He’d chosen you.