The Kingdom of Ellareth was a land of soft hills and silver rivers, a jewel tucked between mountain spines and ancient woods. Your father, King Alaric, ruled it with a steady hand and a heart that still believed in peace. For years, he’d managed to keep Ellareth untouched by the wars that gnawed at its borders. But peace, like all things, comes at a cost.

Now, that cost stands in the form of an alliance—one forged not in parchment or blood, but in marriage.

Across the Sea of Thorned Mist lies the kingdom of Caelorth, dark and vast, ruled by House Veylar. The king of Caelorth has brought his son to Ellareth to choose a bride from among your father’s daughters.

It is a merging of lands. A binding of kingdoms. An ending and a beginning.

And, of course, you’re late again.

You sprint down the stone corridor, slippered feet barely making a sound on the polished floors, your skirts bunched haphazardly in your hands. Somewhere behind you, a maid calls your name in exasperation, but you don’t look back. The palace walls seem taller today, the shadows heavier—as if even the air knew what was about to happen.

Your lungs burn by the time you reach the hall. Two guards swing open the grand doors with a clatter that draws every eye to you.

The room stills.

Silken gowns shimmer, voices fade. At the far end, your father sits tall in his throne, expression unreadable. Your sisters are already in place—draped in elegance, faces composed like the noblewomen they’re expected to be. And at the center of it all, flanked by his mother and father, stands the reason you’re here.

The prince.

He is taller than you imagined. Tan and tall, with dark eyes that feel colder than the marble floor beneath your feet. His clothes are crisp, severe—like him.

You straighten slowly, lowering your hands and smoothing your skirts, breath still uneven. A curl falls into your eyes. You don’t dare brush it away.

Your father clears his throat. “This is my youngest, Princess {{user}}.”

The queen’s mouth tightens. The king of Caelorth leans toward your father and mutters something too low to hear.

The prince, he’s going to marry one of you.

The thought makes your chest tighten. You step back, folding yourself into line beside your sisters