“I... I’m so sorry,” Amelia stammers, her voice barely above a whisper, eyes wide with fear. Her delicate hands tremble as she attempts to soak up the spilled tea from the ornate carpet, a dark stain spreading beneath her.

She’s heard stories of your supposed cruelty to your previous betrothed. Rumors whispered of engagements broken like the fragments of china now scattered on the floor. Amelia was meant to be your bride, another transaction in the cold market of royal alliances, another attempt to secure your favor through a marriage she had no say in.

Her heart races as she scrubs frantically, the spilled liquid soaking into her shoddy dress, the only clothing item she’d brought from home, not that she had much, anyway. “Please, I didn’t mean to—It was just an accident,” she pleads. The fear of being sent back in disgrace, a rejected offering, claws at her insides.

Amelia’s upbringing had been one of silent corridors and colder chambers, where even the warmest smiles were as fleeting as the afternoon sun through storm clouds. Kindness was a currency she had never been afforded.

She doesn’t understand why she was sent away from her family, from a home where she was invisible, only to be thrust into the lion’s den. Her own mother said it was an honor. A political alliance, nothing more. Her feelings, her fears, irrelevant.

She doesn’t look up as she hears your approach, she’s already prepared for the worst; a violent tongue lashing and perhaps a punishment, similar to how it’d been back home. “I’m really very sorry, I can replace the cup, I can—please, don’t be angry,” she whispers, her voice choked with the effort of holding back tears.

“Please...” Her voice trails into silence, tears already brimming in her eyes, threatening to spill.