The morning sun streamed through the high windows of my chambers, dust motes swirling in the golden light like tiny, drifting stars. I sat perched on the cushioned window seat, fingers idly twisting the hem of my robe as my mind whirled faster than I could keep up with.
"The day before the ball," I muttered to myself, letting my head fall back against the cool stone wall. "And I still have no idea what I want to wear."
Not just any dress would do. It had to be a statement—a reflection of the old blood of the Ravens, a symbol of unity between the Four, and a promise to our allies that strength, beauty, and legacy still lived within these walls.
Something bold. Something unforgettable.
Maybe a deep silver threaded with black, to mirror the night sky. Maybe crimson accents, a nod to the House of Dragons. Maybe feathers embroidered along the sleeves again, a quiet reminder of who I was and what I had fought for.
I let out a slow breath, my thoughts tangling in frustration.
And yet... even the excitement of preparing for the celebration couldn't fully distract me from the gnawing ache under my ribs.
It had been days.
Days since that night in the forest.
Days since the spar that had ended with our lips colliding, our hands gripping each other with the kind of desperate longing that could undo entire empires.
Days since I'd seen Alexander—really seen him—and said a word beyond what duty required.
He had avoided me.
Or perhaps I had avoided him.
I wasn't sure anymore. Only that the space between us now felt far more dangerous than any kiss could have been.
"Maybe he regrets it," I whispered under my breath, staring out at the training yard below. Alexander was out there, his sword flashing in the sun, sparring with some of the other knights. Calm. Focused. As if nothing had happened. As if that kiss was nothing more than a mistake, a lapse in judgment.
My throat tightened. I turned away from the window, blinking fast.
"No," I told myself fiercely. "Today is not the day for weakness."
Tomorrow, the realm would see the fruits of all my work. Tomorrow, the old houses would stand together for the first time in a generation. Tomorrow, I would not be a girl longing for a man she could never have.
I would be a ruler.
I would be everything I was meant to be.
Even if it killed me.
I pushed myself off the window seat, brushing out the folds of my robe as I straightened. No more sulking. There were things to be done, and the dress was one of the most important.
My steps were light as I crossed the room, calling for my handmaid, Talia, to help me dress properly for the outing. I chose a simple gown of dark green velvet, soft and easy to move in, with a silver belt that cinched neatly at my waist. My hair was woven into a loose braid over my shoulder, nothing too formal. I wanted to look like myself today — not the princess cloaked in politics and duty.
As Talia fussed with the clasp at the back of my dress, I glanced over my shoulder and said, "Send for Cealisie. Tell her I want her to come with me."
Talia gave a slight, knowing smile and curtsied. "Of course, my lady."
Cealisie had been begging for weeks to get a new dress. She was six now — and utterly convinced she was as grown as I was. She would love this, and I could use the company. Besides, it felt right that she should have a special gown of her own for the ball. She was part of this future we were building too.
While I waited, I sat at my vanity, fiddling with a small silver comb, nerves fluttering strangely in my stomach. Not from fear, not exactly.
Something else.
Something like... hope.
A few minutes later, the door burst open without ceremony, and Cealisie darted in, her tiny boots scuffing against the stone.
"Ria!" she squealed, arms flinging around my waist before I could even stand. "Talia said you needed me!"
I laughed, smoothing back her soft, wild blonde curls — hair so bright it almost glowed in the morning light — and met her brilliant green eyes, wide and brimming with excitement. She looked like a storybook sprite, all sunshine and energy.
"I do need you," I said, crouching to meet her eye level. "We're going into town today. We need dresses for the ball."
Her mouth formed a perfect O, and she bounced on her heels.
"A new dress? For me?"
I tapped her nose playfully. "For you. And for me. But you have to help me pick mine too."
Cealisie nodded solemnly, the weight of the task setting her little shoulders back with importance. "I'll pick the prettiest one ever, I promise."
I smiled, standing and taking her hand. "Good. Then let's get going. The shop won't wait forever."
The two of us left my chambers together, hand in hand, weaving through the familiar halls of the keep. I caught a glimpse of Alexander through one of the archways, still training in the yard, but I forced myself to look away before my heart could betray me.
Today was for dresses and family and beginnings.
Not regrets.
The guards opened the large front doors for us, and soon Cealisie and I were stepping into the sunlit bustle of the town square — the heart of our kingdom, alive and breathing, just as I had always dreamed it would be.
The sun poured over the town square, warming the cobbled streets and golden rooftops of the shops that clustered around the main fountain. Children darted between merchants, chasing each other with wooden swords, and the scent of baking bread and sweet lavender filled the air.
Cealisie tugged eagerly at my hand, pointing at everything we passed — the flower carts, the jeweler's window glittering with precious stones, even the baker's cat stretched lazily in the sun.
As we walked, people began to notice us. Heads turned. Whispers filled the air like the buzzing of bees, not in fear, but in reverence. I was their princess, after all — the daughter of their king and queen, and now the voice that had helped forge an alliance to protect them.
Men doffed their caps. Women dipped low curtsies. Little boys tried to stand straighter, and little girls clutched each other's hands in awe.
I met their gazes with soft smiles, nodding where I could, my heart swelling at the way they looked at Cealisie too — like she was a jewel of hope.
"That's Lady Ria," I heard a butcher whisper to his apprentice.
"And her little sister. Gods bless 'em both," another woman said, pressing a hand over her heart.
We passed the blacksmith — Master Durn, a broad-shouldered man with soot-stained hands who had once crafted the ceremonial swords for our royal guard. He bowed stiffly, his hammer still in one hand. Near him stood Maris, the healer, who ran the infirmary and had treated half the town's illnesses herself. She curtsied deeply, her lined face breaking into a smile of genuine warmth.
Each one we passed had a role, a purpose that helped the kingdom breathe: the farmers who fed us, the tailors who clothed us, the builders who shaped our homes.
They weren't just subjects. They were our people.
And today, walking among them, I didn't feel distant or separate.
I felt... one of them.
Cealisie clung tighter to my hand, her wide eyes taking in every bow and curtsy.
"Why is everyone doing that?" she whispered up at me.
I squeezed her fingers gently. "Because they believe in us," I murmured.
"And because you're a princess too."
Her chest puffed up a little at that, and I had to bite back a laugh.
At last, we reached a familiar storefront — a little stone building with ivy trailing up the sides and a polished wooden sign swinging gently above the door.
"Madame Sylra's Fine Gowns."
The shop that had dressed my mother for her coronation, me for my naming ceremony, and now — if all went well — would dress me for one of the most important nights of my life.
The bell above the door chimed softly as I pushed it open. The smell of fresh linen and lavender soap enveloped us instantly, warm and welcoming.
Inside, Madame Sylra herself looked up from her sewing, her eyes lighting when she saw us.
"Lady Ria!" she gasped, hurrying to curtsy so deeply it nearly toppled her. "And young Lady Cealisie! What an honor."
I smiled warmly, feeling some of the tightness in my chest ease.
"It's good to see you, Sylra. We have an important night to prepare for."
Sylra's wrinkled face brightened even more.
"Then we'll make you look like a queen herself, my lady. Come — come, we'll find the perfect gowns."
Cealisie practically skipped ahead of me, already drawn to the bolts of colorful fabric stacked around the room. I followed, my heart lighter than it had been in days, the hum of the town's life still lingering in my ears like a song.
Tomorrow, everything would change.
But today, here in the gown shop with my sister and my people, it felt like a piece of the old world — the good parts — was still mine to hold.
The dress shop smelled of lavender and old wood, a comforting scent that reminded me of all the times I had come here as a little girl, tugging at my mother's skirts while she chose gowns for court. Now, the shop was mine to roam — and it felt strangely heavy.
Madame Sylra and her assistants swarmed me, pulling dress after dress from towering shelves and hangers, each more ornate than the last.
The first was a pale pink gown layered with pearls. It looked sweet and delicate on the mannequin, but once it was on me, I felt... ridiculous. Like a girl playing dress-up, not a woman who had just brokered peace between kingdoms.
I shook my head before the attendants could even pin the back.
The next was a gleaming silver gown, tight around the bodice and flaring at the hips. It shimmered under the warm lantern light like fish scales, sleek and sharp.
Too sharp.
Too cold.
It clung to me like armor instead of lifting me up.
I stepped down from the platform, frowning, feeling the unease settling deeper into my chest.
"I want something different," I murmured to Madame Sylra, who simply smiled, patient as always.
Next came a blue dress so pale it was nearly white, with fine crystal beads stitched into the sleeves. It was beautiful — objectively beautiful — but it wasn't me.
It wasn't right for the night ahead.
It wasn't powerful enough.
Cealisie sat on a little velvet stool by the wall, her blonde hair a halo in the afternoon light, swinging her legs and offering her very serious opinions as I tried each one on.
"You look like a pastry," she said frankly about the pink one.
"Like an icicle," she said about the silver.
I couldn't help but laugh, grateful for her honesty.
Just when I was ready to give up and tell Sylra we'd have to commission something new — that's when I saw it.
Tucked away near the back of the shop, half-forgotten, was a dress of deep, rich burgundy.
It wasn't flashy. It didn't sparkle.
But it commanded attention.
I found myself moving toward it as if pulled by an invisible string. My fingers brushed the velvet-soft fabric, feeling the weight of it, the promise stitched into every thread.
"This one," I said quietly.
Madame Sylra's eyes gleamed as she helped me into it.
When I stepped onto the fitting platform, the burgundy fabric flowing around my feet like pooled wine, Cealisie gasped so loudly that the assistants jumped.
"You look like a queen already!" she cried.
I stared at myself in the mirror, heart pounding.
Yes.
This was it.
But I wasn't finished. Not yet.
"I want to add something," I said, my voice steady with sudden conviction. "Something to represent the four old kingdoms."
Madame Sylra nodded immediately, her mind already working.
We spent the next hour choosing the delicate details:
— Thin silver embroidery at the belt, shaped like fangs, to honor the Wolves.
— Flickers of crimson and gold stitched into the underlayers of the skirt, fire hidden just beneath the surface for the Dragons.
— Black silk feathers curling at the neckline, a proud but subtle mark of the Ravens.
— Fine serpent patterns coiled along the lace sleeves, clever and quiet, for the Serpents.
It all came together so naturally it felt almost destined.
As the assistants bustled around, pinning and adjusting, I caught my reflection again — this time standing tall, shoulders straight, chin lifted.
No, this was not a little girl playing princess anymore.
This was a future queen.
A bridge between ancient power and new hope.
Cealisie tugged my sleeve, pulling me back to earth.
"I found mine too!" she said, twirling.
Her dress was a soft lilac, light as air, with tiny white pearls dusting the bodice and hem, making her look even more like the sprite she was. Her green eyes gleamed with excitement.
"You're perfect, little star," I told her, kissing the top of her head.
By the time the final measurements were taken, the sun had dipped lower, casting the shop in a warm amber glow.
I gathered Cealisie's hand in mine as we left, our new dresses carefully packed and guarded by Sylra's apprentices.
Tomorrow.
Tomorrow it all begins.
The sun had drifted lower in the sky by the time Cealisie and I left the dress shop, casting a warm, honeyed light over the town. The cobbled streets gleamed slightly from the earlier morning rain, and the crisp smell of wet stone mingled with the richer scents of roasting meats, fresh bread, and the faint sweetness of drying herbs that hung from many of the shop eaves.
I held Cealisie's hand tightly as we wove through the bustling streets. Every few steps, we were met with bows and curtsies, murmured greetings of "My lady," or "Princess Ria, Princess Cealisie."
Their faces, full of hope, admiration, and loyalty, filled my heart with a bittersweet pride. These people — bakers, cobblers, blacksmiths, farmers — they depended on us. They believed in us.
It made the alliance we had forged all the more precious.
Cealisie waved happily at anyone who looked her way, her golden hair bouncing with each skip of her steps. In her eyes, everything was still a grand adventure. In mine... it felt like a heavy promise.
I smiled down at her, grateful for her light.
As we moved past a group of young apprentices hauling barrels into a tavern, I caught a flash of familiar blonde hair and green eyes ahead — leaning with casual arrogance against a stone post.
Kenin.
He stood there like he owned the entire street, arms folded, a smirk playing at his lips. Dressed in a deep green tunic embroidered with silver thread, dark leather trousers, and boots that were scuffed from riding — the picture of easy rebellion wrapped in royal blood.
I almost laughed at the sight of him.
Before I could say a word, he pushed off the post and sauntered toward us, hands in his pockets, his walk a lazy swagger.
"Well, if it isn't my two favorite troublemakers," he called out, a teasing glint in his eyes.
Cealisie squealed and let go of my hand to run straight into his arms. He scooped her up with ease, spinning her in a small circle that made her giggle wildly.
"I'm not a troublemaker!" she protested between peals of laughter.
Kenin laughed, ruffling her hair. "You're right. You're a chaos bringer. A tiny whirlwind."
I crossed my arms and raised an eyebrow at him. "And you're not much better."
"Flattery will get you nowhere, dear sister," he said with mock gravity, setting Cealisie down carefully. "What are you two doing wandering about without a retinue? The kingdom's precious jewels, exposed to all the dangers of the world."
I gave him a pointed look. "This is our town. And besides, half the town would throw themselves between us and any danger. These are our people, Kenin."
He gave a dramatic sigh and placed a hand over his heart.
"You wound me, Ria. Here I am, offering my protection."
"You're offering trouble," I said, nudging him with my shoulder. Cealisie giggled and grabbed both our hands, swinging between us as we started walking.
The three of us made our way toward the castle, weaving through the market square where vendors were starting to pack away their goods for the day. Lanterns were being lit one by one, casting a warm, golden glow over the cobbles. The smell of roasting meat and warm pastries lingered thick in the air.
"So," Kenin said, glancing sideways at me, "the ball tomorrow. Excited?"
I snorted softly. "Nervous."
"You'll be brilliant. You always are," he said with an easy shrug. "And after tomorrow, they'll be singing songs about you. The Princess who United the Four."
I rolled my eyes, though secretly, his words meant more to me than I could say. "Songs? Gods, please no songs."
Kenin laughed. "Too late. I've already commissioned a bard."
Cealisie gasped. "Truly?!"
Kenin winked at her. "Truly. And you'll get your very own verse, little storm."
Cealisie beamed proudly, and I shook my head, laughing despite myself.
As we neared the castle gates, the conversation shifted. Kenin grew a little quieter, more thoughtful.
"You've done something incredible, Ria," he said, voice lower. "Not just for the kingdom, but for all of us."
I blinked, caught off guard by the sincerity. "I had help."
"You had heart," he corrected. "That's rarer."
We crossed into the courtyard, where the fading sun painted the stone walls in a rich golden hue. Guards bowed as we passed, and the great oak doors to the castle stood open in welcome.
The weight of tomorrow pressed down on me once more — heavy, but somehow... less lonely now.
Inside, Cealisie tugged at Kenin's hand, babbling about her new dress and how she wanted to dance and twirl until she got dizzy.
Kenin ruffled her hair again, pretending to be horrified at the idea of having to dance.
I let their laughter fill the hallway as I walked behind them, my fingers brushing the cool stone walls in silent thanks.
Tomorrow would be a new beginning.
And for once, I dared to hope it would be beautiful.
As Cealisie, Kenin, and I made our way back to the castle, the bustling sounds of the town gradually faded, replaced by the quieter, more solemn ambiance of the stone corridors. I was lost in thought, my mind still buzzing from the excitement of finally securing the perfect dress for the celebration tomorrow, when I rounded a corner and nearly collided with a familiar broad chest.
"Gods—!" I stumbled back a step, startled.
It was Alexander.
His brown curly hair was slightly disheveled, and his hazel eyes—usually calm and steady—were wide with panic. His cloak was tossed over his shoulder like he'd thrown it on in a hurry, and he was visibly trembling with barely-contained urgency.
"Where the hell have you been?" he demanded, voice tight with concern.
I blinked at him, confused. "I was in town. With Cealisie."
He seemed to breathe a sigh of relief at the mention of my sister, but the storm in his gaze didn't subside. "And you didn't think to tell anyone where you were going?" His voice was low, barely controlled, a tremor of frustration underneath.
I frowned, crossing my arms. "I didn't bring guards with me. I thought the people of this kingdom wouldn't harm me. They've never given me reason to think otherwise."
Alexander's expression hardened, his jaw tightening. He looked at me as if he couldn't decide whether to shout or pull me into his arms. He exhaled a sharp breath, his chest rising and falling quickly.
"I've been searching for you for hours, Ria," he said, the words like a confession. "Hours. I didn't know where you were—how could I protect you if I didn't even know you were safe?"
My stomach tightened with guilt. I hadn't realized how much he had been worrying. "I... I didn't think."
"That's the problem." His tone softened, but the anger was still there, hidden beneath the surface. "You can't keep doing this to me. You're the heart of this kingdom now. If anything were to happen to you—"
I shook my head, cutting him off. "Nothing was going to happen, Alex. Cealisie and I were perfectly safe. On our way back, we even bumped into Kenin."
His eyes narrowed, and the raw worry on his face made my chest ache. He took a step closer to me, his presence overwhelming. "I don't care if you think you were safe. You're not just anyone anymore, Ria. You're a symbol for this kingdom. You can't afford to put yourself at risk."
His words hit harder than I expected. I looked at him, my own frustration bubbling up. "I'm not a fragile porcelain doll, Alexander. I can take care of myself."
He looked down for a moment, then met my eyes again, softer now. "I know you can. But I have to protect you. That's what I'm here for."
There was a long silence, tension hanging heavy in the air between us.
Finally, I took a deep breath. "I'm sorry. I should have told you where I was going. I didn't mean to worry you."
He nodded slowly, but the tension in his body remained. "Next time, Ria. Just... please, tell me where you're going. I need to know you're safe."
I nodded back, my heart thumping a little harder than it should. "I will," I promised.
For a moment, it felt like we were both holding our breath, standing on the edge of something neither of us knew how to navigate. But then Alexander exhaled sharply, his face softening into that familiar mask of control.
With one last look, he turned and walked away, his footsteps echoing in the hall. I watched him go, my chest tight and my mind swirling with everything left unsaid.
As I stood there, I realized that no matter how much I tried to push him away, Alexander had already become a part of me. And maybe, just maybe, I didn't want him to go anywhere.
I set my dress carefully on the bed, the rich burgundy fabric catching the dim light of the room, the weight of it a reminder of the celebration ahead. It felt like the weight of a thousand eyes would be on me—those from the four old kingdoms, the princes, the people. It wasn't just a ball; it was the future.
I sighed, shaking the thought away. I couldn't keep worrying. I needed a moment to breathe, something to steady the whirl of nerves and thoughts in my head. The garden. That's where I always went when I needed clarity. It was quiet, peaceful—the one place I didn't have to be Princess Ria. It was the one place I could just be myself.
I grabbed a piece of parchment from the desk, quickly scribbling a note to Alexander. I owed him an explanation, even if I knew he'd probably still be upset with me.
Alexander,
I'm in the garden for a while. I just need a little time alone before tonight. Don't worry. I'm safe. I'll be back soon.
I folded it, slipping it under his door with a soft click, feeling an odd sense of relief that I'd at least made sure he knew where I was.
With that done, I turned toward the open door and slipped out, making my way down the hall. The air outside was cool against my skin, a sharp contrast to the warmth inside the castle. The garden, with its winding paths and flowers in full bloom, was a world away from the tension and expectations that awaited inside the castle walls.
It wasn't long before I found my way to the stone bench I always favored, sitting down and closing my eyes as I let the breeze rustle the leaves above. It was calming, the soft scent of roses and lavender filling the air.
But as much as I tried to calm myself, my thoughts kept circling back to the same person: Alexander. He was always there, hovering just at the edges of my thoughts. Every time I thought I'd managed to forget for a few moments, something brought me back to him—his eyes, his laugh, the way he'd stood in the doorway earlier, so fierce in his worry.
I couldn't afford to let those feelings complicate things, not with everything on the line. But why did it feel like everything I did was leading me back to him?
I shook my head, determined to push those thoughts aside. This was not the time. Not when the fate of my kingdom—and the alliances—were so precariously hanging in the balance.
But despite my best efforts, the thought of him lingered.
I moved through the garden, the cool evening air brushing my skin, and for a moment, I felt almost free—like a bird with no cage to return to. My fingers brushed the soft petals of the roses, their velvet edges cool with the lingering dampness of the day. The scent of roses, mingled with the earthy sweetness of tulips, filled my lungs, a balm to the chaos that had been swirling inside me all day.
I reached the center of the garden, where the flowers spread out in vibrant swirls of red, gold, and purple, like a painter's canvas come to life. It was here I often came when I needed to be alone, away from the eyes that followed me everywhere, away from the weight of my responsibilities. The sun was sinking low, casting long shadows across the flowers and turning the sky into a canvas of soft, golden hues. But tonight, there was something different in the air—a strange tension, like the world was holding its breath.
I lowered myself gently to the ground, sitting in the middle of the field, surrounded by the blooming colors. The soft blades of grass tickled the back of my legs, and the earth beneath me felt cool, almost comforting, despite the swirling thoughts inside me. I folded my knees beneath me, leaning slightly forward to catch the fading light, and let my gaze drift to the horizon. The sky was bleeding into shades of amber and lavender, soft and beautiful, and for a brief moment, the weight of everything else seemed to fade away.
But even here, in this quiet sanctuary, I couldn't escape the weight of my own heart. The thoughts of duty, of Alexander—of him, and the way my heart felt whenever he was near—kept pulling at me. There was a storm inside me, an impossible pull between my role, my desires, and the uncertainty of what it meant to want him so desperately. How could I reconcile all of these conflicting parts of myself? The duty of a princess, the desires of a woman, and the loyalty I felt for him, when I knew, deep down, how dangerous it could be.
I closed my eyes, trying to block out the noise of my thoughts, the hum of the insects in the air, and just focus on the moment. The stillness of the garden. The quiet breath of the world around me. But even in the calm, my heart felt heavy—heavy with longing, heavy with uncertainty. Was there ever a way to find peace between these two parts of me? To be both a woman and a princess, to want both my freedom and my duty, and still be true to myself?
The sky above me deepened, the colors of the sunset turning darker, richer, but I hardly noticed. I was lost in the swirl of my own thoughts, letting the moment slip by. In the end, it wasn't the garden, or the sunset, or even the quiet that held me here. It was something else—something deep inside me that ached, that needed to feel something beyond the pressure of the world. A fleeting moment, perhaps, but it was enough.
As I sat there, the sun slowly sinking beneath the horizon, a strange heaviness settled on my chest, tightening with each passing moment. The colors of the sky—once warm and soft—began to darken, but it wasn't just the fading light that cast a shadow over me. The thought that had been growing inside me, lurking in the back of my mind for days, now pressed forward, impossible to ignore.
Marriage.
I couldn't escape the reality of it. My father had spoken of it so often lately—each word a reminder of the destiny that awaited me, whether I was ready for it or not. The pressure of the crown had always been heavy, but this... this felt like a weight I couldn't shake, like the earth itself was trying to bury me beneath it.
Soon, my father would begin negotiations with the sons of the other kingdoms. The four kingdoms. I would be expected to marry one of them. A political alliance, a strengthening of ties—so many things that didn't matter to the heart, but everything to the throne. It was as simple as that. Or, at least, as simple as my father saw it. He had always known that my marriage would be more about strategy than desire, about power more than love. It was my duty to the kingdom, a duty that I had no choice but to accept.
But the idea of it... the thought of being given away, of becoming nothing more than a piece on a chessboard, a pawn in a game I couldn't even begin to understand, filled me with a sickening dread.
One of the sons of the four kingdoms. I didn't know them—hadn't even seen most of them in years. Would I even have a choice? Would I be forced into the arms of a man I didn't know, perhaps didn't even like? Would I be nothing more than a means to an end for the sake of my father's alliances?
I had been prepared for many things as the princess of this realm, but this... this was something I hadn't expected to be so overwhelming. The thought of being married to a stranger, of stepping into a future where my choices would be limited, my heart bound to a man I might not love—it felt suffocating.
My thoughts turned to Alexander, and the ache in my chest deepened. He, of course, would never be the one I would marry. The thought of him standing beside me as anything other than my knight—my protector—felt wrong, out of place. His duty was to guard me, nothing more. And yet...
I couldn't deny the pull, the quiet yearning that had been growing between us. What would happen to us, to this connection we shared, when the day came that I was promised to another? Would it fade, a casualty of duty? Or would it grow into something dangerous, something impossible to ignore?
I closed my eyes, trying to push the thought away, but it clung to me, relentless. It was the truth I couldn't escape—the truth that no matter how much I longed for something more, the reality of my marriage would soon be upon me, and there was nothing I could do to change it. Not unless I was willing to risk everything.
And what would I risk? What would I lose in the process?
I opened my eyes, the soft colors of the evening sky now almost gone, and I realized, with a pang in my chest, that I had never truly been free. Not in the way I wanted to be. I had always been bound by duty, by the expectations of those around me. The chains were invisible, but they were real. And the marriage, when it came, would only be another link in the chain, another step toward a life I could never truly call my own.
The thought lingered, like a shadow in my heart, as the last sliver of sunlight disappeared behind the distant mountains.
The garden had grown darker now, the twilight deepening into the cold blue of evening. The flowers around me, once vibrant in the sun's embrace, seemed to close in on themselves, their colors dimming in the fading light. It felt as though the world was moving on, while I remained frozen, trapped in the unrelenting pull of the future that was coming for me, no matter how much I tried to resist it.
I thought of my mother then. She had married for love, but in the end, it hadn't saved her from the political machinations that had consumed her life. She had been a queen, but she had been a woman first—a woman who had been forced to sacrifice the very thing she had loved most in the world. Perhaps that was why I had never been able to find comfort in the idea of marriage. I had seen too clearly the cost of such unions.
I hadn't asked for this life. I hadn't asked to be born into a world where my heart had no say in matters of power, where my desires were nothing but whispers lost in the halls of courts. Yet here I was, the princess of a kingdom teetering on the edge of war and diplomacy, and my life—my very future—was a bargaining chip.
Would my marriage even matter to me, when it came down to it? Would I learn to accept it, like my mother had done, burying her feelings beneath the weight of the crown and her duty? I didn't know. The thought terrified me, not because I feared the union itself, but because I feared becoming like her—becoming someone who had once loved and lived fully, only to have those things stripped away in the name of power.
I closed my eyes, taking a slow breath, and in that moment, it felt like the whole world was holding its breath with me. Everything was still, as though the very air had frozen in place. I wondered if anyone else could feel the pressure building, the way everything seemed to be moving toward something inevitable.
Then I thought of Alexander again, and my breath caught in my throat.
It was impossible, wasn't it? The very thought of him, standing at my side, not as my protector, but as something more—something beyond the bond we had built, something deeper, something that neither of us had ever dared to acknowledge. My heart raced at the thought, a quiet yearning that I couldn't shake.
But what would that mean? What would I be risking? My father's wrath? The stability of the kingdom? The carefully crafted alliances with the other kingdoms?
The stakes were too high for any of this to be real. I was the princess. My duty came first.
Yet, even as I whispered these truths to myself, they felt hollow, like empty echoes in my mind. Because somewhere inside me, something was stirring—something that couldn't be ignored. I wanted more than duty. I wanted more than the chains of expectation that had bound me for so long.
But it was a dangerous desire, one that would shatter everything if it was ever exposed. A desire that could ruin me, ruin him, and ruin everything I had ever known.
I stood, my legs stiff from sitting too long on the cold ground. The garden seemed even quieter now, the darkness pressing in around me like a cloak. I gazed toward the palace, the flickering lights in the windows a distant reminder of the life that awaited me.
The reality of marriage—of being given away, of becoming something that belonged to another kingdom, another man—was closing in around me. And yet, in the depths of my heart, I couldn't help but wonder if there was another way. If there was some path, some hidden door in the walls of my life, where I could escape this fate, even if just for a moment, and live as I truly longed to.
But that path was nowhere to be found. And I knew, deep down, that when the time came, I would have no choice but to walk the one that had been chosen for me.
I only hoped I could survive it.
The quiet of the garden wrapped itself around me as I turned back toward the palace, my heart heavy with the weight of my thoughts. The path ahead seemed so clear, yet every step felt like it would carry me further into a future I didn't choose, a life where my own desires would be buried beneath the unyielding expectations of duty. The path of the princess—no matter how far I strayed from it in my mind, no matter how desperately I sought to escape it—it would always pull me back.
As I walked toward the garden's edge, the light from the palace windows grew brighter, casting a soft glow on the cobblestones beneath my feet. The world outside the garden felt far removed from this moment, from the place where I could almost pretend to be free, where I could allow my heart to wander and wonder. But the reality of what awaited me was always just beyond the horizon, and no amount of time in the garden would change that.
I couldn't ignore it any longer. The time was coming. My father would make his decision soon. And I—whether I was ready or not—would be swept up into it. The sons of the four kingdoms would be presented before me, one by one, and I would have to choose—or, more accurately, my father would choose for me. There would be no room for me to protest, no space to fight for a life that felt like my own.
The thought of standing before them, these strangers, these men who had been raised for nothing but power, made my stomach churn. How could I ever choose among them? How could I ever choose a life that belonged to someone else?
And then there was Alexander.
His image flickered through my mind like a fleeting shadow, the memory of his eyes, of his quiet presence always nearby. What would I do when the time came? Could I bear to see him, standing at the back of the room, watching as I made my choice? Could I even look at him without feeling the ache of what could never be?
I knew, deep down, that I could never ask him to give up everything—his life, his loyalty, his purpose—for me. He was bound to me in ways I couldn't even fully understand. But I was bound to my kingdom, to my father's legacy, and to the expectations of an entire realm. That was the price of being born a princess.
As I reached the steps leading up to the palace, the weight of my own silence pressed in on me. There was nothing I could say, nothing I could do to change what was coming. The choices I had made—and the choices I hadn't—had already set this path in motion. It was too late to turn back.
I paused at the foot of the stairs, my eyes briefly scanning the courtyard before me. The flickering lanterns illuminated the stone walls of the palace, casting long shadows on the ground. For a moment, I wondered if I would ever feel the warmth of sunlight on my face again without it being tainted by the cold, distant reality of my future.
The thought of Alexander was like a quiet whisper in the back of my mind. I could almost hear him, his voice as calm and steady as always, reminding me of my duty, of the responsibilities that came with being born into this life. And yet, there was a part of me that wanted to scream, to shout for all the things I could never have, to run as far away from this palace and the future it held as I could.
But that, I knew, was a fantasy. A dream I couldn't afford to entertain. The world would never bend to my will. I would never escape the chains of my birthright.
And so, I walked up the stairs, my feet heavy, my heart heavier still. As the doors of the palace closed behind me, sealing me back into the world I had never truly chosen, I realized that no matter how far I wandered in my thoughts, no matter how much I longed for freedom, the choices I made now would shape the rest of my life.
And soon, I would have to make them.
The heavy door clicked shut behind me, and the sound echoed in the quiet hallway, like the closing of a chapter I couldn't avoid. The air in the palace felt stifling, as if it were closing in on me, suffocating all the space where my thoughts could wander. I stood in the dim hallway for a moment, my back pressed against the door, as though I could somehow delay what was coming.
But the silence didn't last long. It was only a breath before my mind, relentless as it always was, wandered back to the same place it had been since the garden. The garden, where I had allowed myself to dream for a few precious moments—dreams I knew were dangerous, fantasies that could unravel everything I had ever known.
What if Alexander and I ran away?
The thought came so suddenly, so sharply, that I nearly gasped. It was absurd, impossible. Ridiculous. I could already hear the voices of my father, my councilors, the nobles of the realm—all of them, in unison, condemning such a thought. And yet... the idea lingered, tugging at the edges of my mind with a magnetic force.
What if we simply left? Took only what we needed, no guards, no kingdoms to bind us, no duties to fulfill. Just the two of us—Alexander, the man who had become more than just my knight, and me, a woman trapped by the weight of her birthright. Could it be possible? Could we, for once, choose our own fate?
The image flashed before my eyes—Alexander and I, traveling together through unfamiliar lands, walking beneath the open sky, unburdened by the chains of the crown. His presence beside me, steady and unshakable, as we shared a life without the expectations, without the politics, without the looming specter of marriage and alliance.
A fleeting smile touched my lips, the thought as intoxicating as it was impossible. We could disappear, vanish into the unknown. There was nothing to stop us. Nothing, except the walls of the kingdom, the power of the crown, the life I had been born into. And yet, the idea of being free, truly free, for the first time in my life—was it so impossible?
But no. I closed my eyes, pushing the thought away, though it clung stubbornly to the edges of my mind.
I wasn't foolish enough to think such a thing could be real. Alexander had his duty, and I had mine. Our worlds, no matter how much we might wish otherwise, could never truly align. He was a knight, sworn to protect me, bound by honor. And I... I was the princess, the one who had to carry the weight of my father's kingdom on my shoulders. The thought of running away was nothing but a fantasy, a childish dream that could never come to fruition.
What would we live on? What future would we have? There was no place in the world for someone like me to disappear. And Alexander—he was bound to his vows, to his own sense of duty. I could never ask him to forsake everything for me. It would be cruel. Selfish.
Still, a part of me couldn't stop yearning for it—for the kind of life that was beyond the walls of the palace, beyond the role I was meant to play. A life where love wasn't measured by alliances and power, but by the simple, raw truth of being together, free from the expectations of the world.
But the reality settled back in like a cold tide. I had my duties, and so did he. We were bound by a world neither of us had the power to escape.
I opened my eyes, the quiet palace stretching out before me, and sighed softly. There was no escape from this path. The choices had already been made for me long before I was born. And in the end, no matter how much I wished for something different, I knew I would never find the courage—or the means—to defy the life that awaited me.
And so, with a heavy heart, I took my first step away from the door, the fantasy already slipping away like water through my fingers. It was impossible. But still, in the silence of the palace, the thought clung to me, a secret hope in the depths of my heart. Maybe, just maybe, one day—when the world was no longer watching, when the chains of duty were no longer so tight—I would find a way to choose freedom. To choose him.
But for now, that was nothing more than a dream.
I stopped mid-step, my hand still hovering near the door's handle. For a moment, I couldn't even remember why I'd come back here, to the very door I had just entered moments ago. The air felt heavier now, thicker with a kind of weight I couldn't place. I stood there, in the quiet bedroom, the flickering torches casting long shadows on the stone walls. The silence stretched out before me, thick and oppressive.
A flutter of confusion stirred inside me, as though I had stepped into a place where my mind and heart no longer seemed to agree. I had walked away from the garden, away from the fantasies of running, of escaping into a life that was mine. I had returned to the palace, back to the reality that awaited me. But then, just moments ago, without even fully thinking, I had turned back toward this door as if something—someone—was pulling me in the opposite direction.
Alexander.
The thought was so sudden, so clear, that it caught me off guard. I felt the faintest twinge of something familiar—something I could never fully ignore, no matter how hard I tried. I needed to tell him. I needed him to know I was back from the garden. It was silly, perhaps—something I didn't even need to do. But the thought of him waiting, perhaps already wondering where I had gone, made me feel like I was suddenly anchored in this moment, in this place.
I hadn't even fully realized how much I relied on his presence until this very second. How much of my own mind felt incomplete without knowing that he was nearby, that steady calmness that he exuded, always at my side, always looking after me.
I glanced at the door again. The simple act of walking through it and heading to his chambers felt absurd in light of everything I had just thought about. I was a princess. He was my knight. And yet, even now, I was drawn toward him with an intensity I couldn't quite explain.
The notion of simply leaving the palace, disappearing with him, felt like a reckless, impossible fantasy. But the desire to share my return with him, to speak to him, to feel his presence in this heavy, lonely moment—it felt real, even if it made no sense.
I pulled open the door, the pull toward his chambers tightening with each step. I found myself walking down the hallway with renewed purpose. I wasn't sure why I felt the need to find him, but I could no longer ignore the quiet ache inside me. It wasn't a longing for freedom anymore. It was a need for reassurance, a need to ground myself in something familiar, something steady.
As I walked, I caught myself, wondering how often this had been true—that Alexander had been my constant, even in the moments I hadn't fully understood it. He had always been there, in the background, a protector. But lately, his presence had become something more, something that stirred beneath the surface of my heart.
My steps quickened as I neared his chambers, the thought of him waiting just beyond the door filling my chest with a warmth I hadn't expected.
Was it really this simple? A feeling that tugged at me, leading me back toward him? It wasn't a grand gesture or a call for something impossible—it was simply that I needed him here. Here with me, just as he had always been.
I reached his door, pausing for a brief moment. I felt a strange rush of anticipation, the uncertainty of what I might say, of what I might feel once I was in his presence again.
And yet, all I could manage, standing in front of his door, was a quiet whisper to myself:
"I'm back from the garden, Alexander."
And for the first time in what felt like ages, I realized that in this small, simple act—telling him I had returned—I was stepping closer to the answer I had been too afraid to face. That perhaps, in some way, I didn't want to be alone anymore. Not in the way I had been. Not with this weight. Not with this future that I couldn't escape.
I knocked softly on the door.