CHAPTER ONE

The heavy oak doors of the royal study loomed ahead, their intricate carvings of Avariel’s crest casting long shadows in the flickering light of the torches lining the hall. Emilia’s footsteps echoed, her slippers doing little to muffle the sound. She had been summoned—urgently and without explanation—by her father, King Alaric.

Her chest tightened. Summons from her father rarely meant good news.

As she entered the study, the air was heavy with the scent of aged parchment and candle wax. Her father stood by the tall windows, his broad shoulders silhouetted against the fading sunlight. He didn’t turn as she approached, his hands clasped behind his back. The quiet was oppressive.

“Father?” Emilia’s voice wavered slightly.

“Emilia,” he said at last, his voice low and firm. “Sit.”

She obeyed, lowering herself into the chair opposite his grand mahogany desk. Her father finally turned to face her, his gray eyes sharp and weary, as though the weight of the crown had aged him years in a single day.

“There’s no easy way to say this,” he began, pausing briefly. “Your sister… has fled.”

The words hit Emilia like a physical blow. “What? Fled? What do you mean? Where could she—”

“We don’t know,” he interrupted, his tone clipped. “Last night, Princess Celeste abandoned her duties and left the palace under the cover of darkness. We suspect she’s eloped with that merchant’s son she was so taken with.” His voice dripped with disdain.

Emilia’s mind raced. Celeste, the perfect elder daughter, heir to the throne, and pride of the kingdom—gone? It was unthinkable.

“But… her wedding—”

“Exactly,” Alaric snapped, his face darkening. “The alliance with Arindale depends on this marriage. Without it, years of diplomacy could unravel. War is a very real possibility, Emilia.”

She froze, her breath catching. “What does this mean for me?”

The king’s expression softened, just barely, but his gaze was unwavering. “It means that you must take her place. You will marry Prince Kael.”

The room spun. “Me? But I’m not—Father, I’m not prepared for this. Celeste was—”

“Celeste was selfish,” Alaric interjected harshly. “And now the burden falls to you. You’re no longer the spare princess hiding behind your sister’s shadow. You are Avariel’s hope for stability. This isn’t a request, Emilia—it’s your duty.”

Her mouth went dry. She had spent her life in relative obscurity, the second daughter, unimportant, unseen. Now, she was being thrust into the role she’d never imagined for herself—a bride to a foreign prince, a pawn in a delicate game of politics.

“Prince Kael is already on his way,” Alaric continued, his tone brooking no argument. “You’ll meet him at tomorrow’s council. You’d best make peace with this, Emilia. The kingdom needs you.”

Her father turned away, signaling the end of the conversation. But Emilia couldn’t move, her mind a storm of fear, anger, and disbelief.

As she sat in the oppressive silence of the study, the weight of her new reality settled heavily on her shoulders. This wasn’t just her sister’s betrayal—it was her life being rewritten, her freedom being stripped away.

And tomorrow, she would meet the man she was to marry. A stranger. A prince. A future she had never chosen.

Emilia remained seated long after her father dismissed her, staring at the space he had vacated by the window. The world she knew had tilted on its axis. Her sister’s absence, her father’s command, the looming presence of a stranger she was now bound to—it all pressed against her chest until breathing felt like a laborious act.

Her thoughts spiraled as she left the study. The bustling corridors of the palace seemed distant and unfamiliar, filled with servants and courtiers who barely glanced her way. She was still, as always, invisible. But that anonymity would end tomorrow. Tomorrow, she would be introduced to the prince. Tomorrow, she would step into the life meant for Celeste.

That night, she didn’t sleep.

The next morning, the council chamber was abuzz with activity when she arrived. The air was thick with the scent of polished wood and dried herbs, mingling with the tension that seemed to cling to every corner. Councilors stood in clusters, speaking in low, hurried tones that ceased the moment they noticed her presence.

Her father was already seated at the head of the long oak table, his expression as unreadable as stone. Emilia took her place beside him, her palms clammy as she smoothed the folds of her dress. Her mother was conspicuously absent, as she often was during matters of state.

The double doors at the far end of the chamber opened, and silence fell over the room.

Prince Kael entered with a small entourage of Arindale delegates. He was taller than she’d expected, his broad shoulders filling the doorway. His dark hair was neatly combed, and his sharp features—angled cheekbones, a straight nose, and a strong jaw—were set in a neutral expression that bordered on cold. His eyes, a piercing gray, scanned the room before landing on her.

Emilia’s breath caught, but not for the reasons she had feared.

He was undeniably striking, but his presence was unnerving. There was a weight to his gaze, as if he were assessing her, calculating her worth.

Kael inclined his head toward her father, offering a curt but respectful bow. “Your Majesty,” he said, his voice deep and steady.

“Prince Kael,” her father replied, gesturing toward the empty seat across from Emilia. “Please, join us.”

Kael’s movements were deliberate as he strode to the table, his boots echoing against the marble floor. He sat without hesitation, his posture impeccable, and for a moment, the room felt too small to contain the tension between them.

“This is my daughter, Princess Emilia,” King Alaric said, gesturing toward her. “She will stand in place of her sister, Princess Celeste, as your bride.”

Kael’s eyes shifted to hers, and Emilia forced herself to meet his gaze. His expression didn’t waver—no surprise, no warmth, no disdain. Just a cool, unyielding mask.

“Princess Emilia,” he said, inclining his head. “I’ve heard little of you.”

It wasn’t an insult, but the way he said it felt like one. Emilia stiffened, her fingers curling in her lap.

“And I’ve heard much of you, Your Highness,” she replied, her voice steadier than she expected. “Though I wonder how much of it is true.”

There was the faintest flicker of something in his eyes—amusement, perhaps—but it vanished as quickly as it appeared.

The king cleared his throat, drawing their attention back to him. “The details of the arrangement will be discussed among our councilors,” he said. “For now, I suggest the two of you take some time to… acquaint yourselves.”

Emilia’s stomach twisted at the suggestion, but she rose gracefully, as was expected of her. Kael stood as well, offering his arm with the precision of a man performing an obligation.

She hesitated for a fraction of a second before placing her hand lightly on his arm. His sleeve was coarse under her touch, the fabric of his travel coat betraying its practical, militaristic design.

They walked in silence through the winding corridors of the palace until they reached the garden terrace. The winter roses were in bloom, their pale petals glistening with morning dew. Emilia released his arm, stepping away to put distance between them.

Kael studied her for a moment, his expression inscrutable. “You seem displeased,” he observed.

Emilia turned to face him, tilting her chin slightly. “Wouldn’t you be, in my position?”

“Perhaps,” he admitted, crossing his arms over his chest. “But displeasure changes nothing. We both have our roles to play.”

His bluntness stung, though she couldn’t say why. “And what role do you play, Prince Kael?”

“The one that ensures my kingdom’s survival,” he said evenly. “I assume you’ll do the same.”

His words were pragmatic, almost indifferent, but Emilia detected an undercurrent of tension. This marriage wasn’t his choice any more than it was hers. Yet, he seemed resigned to it in a way that made her chest ache.

She turned away, her gaze drifting to the roses. “I didn’t ask for this,” she said softly.

“Neither did I,” he replied, his voice quieter now. “But here we are.”

The weight of his words settled over her, and for the first time since meeting him, she saw something beyond the cold facade. Resignation, yes, but also a hint of weariness. A man bound by duty as tightly as she was.

“We don’t have to like it,” she said after a pause, “but that doesn’t mean we can’t try to make it… bearable.”

He arched a brow, his lips curving into the faintest hint of a smirk. “Bearable?”

She met his gaze, her own softening just a fraction. “Yes. Unless you’d prefer to spend the rest of our lives making each other miserable.”

Kael studied her for a long moment, then inclined his head. “Fair enough, Princess.”

It wasn’t much—a truce, perhaps, or the beginnings of one—but it was a start. And as they stood amidst the winter roses, Emilia allowed herself a sliver of hope that maybe, just maybe, this arrangement wouldn’t be as impossible as it seemed.