Engagement ceremony.
Chloe.
If I had a gold coin for every time someone asked if I was excited for the wedding, I'd be able to buy my way out of this alliance and start a skincare line.
"Princess Chloe, do you prefer cream or blush roses for the altar?"
"I—what's the difference?"
"Cream is soft, innocent, and romantic. Blush is bold, feminine, and alluring."
"…So basically one says 'I do,' and the other says 'I do, but like, flirty.'"
"Yes, exactly!"
I chose blush. Obviously.
The wedding planning team had turned the east wing into what I can only describe as a bridal warzone. There were swatches. There were sequins. There were three separate people crying, and only one of them was me.
Meanwhile, my phone kept buzzing in my pocket like it owed me money.
Seraphina 💅: did u tell him abt the color scheme???
Me: he doesn't care
Seraphina 💅: TELL HIM ANYWAY. it's called COMMUNICATION.
Me: you're 14.
Seraphina 💅: and yet smarter than you.
Rhys 👑: If I have to taste one more miniature cake I'm declaring war.
Me: mood
Rhys 👑: No literally. War.
---
Despite the royal circus, I was... okay.
Mostly.
There were moments—like when the wedding designer tried to fit me into a mermaid-cut gown that made me look like a tragic sausage—where I considered leaping from a window. But in general, the chaos was a good distraction from the part where I was marrying a man who may or may not be entirely human.
Also: people had started calling us "Kloeran" on TikTok.
Not helping.
---
I hadn't even told you how I found out I was getting married.
One second, I was eating cold noodles in my bed, watching an absolutely unhinged dating show where people wore masks and pretended to fall in love. The next, my father was knocking on my door with a manila folder and a Very Serious Look.
I remember blinking at him.
"Did I do something illegal?"
"Not yet," he said. "But you will if you try to run."
Inside the folder was a letter from Caelorth. Some sealed, ancient, golden-stamped nonsense with more titles than actual sentences. And at the bottom of the scroll, in aggressive cursive:
Kieran Aurelian of Caelorth.
Crown prince. War tactician. Trained since birth in every weapon imaginable. Said to be the reason the Northern Rebellion surrendered in two weeks flat. Probably not a fan of lip gloss or Instagram.
I remembered saying, "Is this a prank?"
My father didn't laugh.
"I'm nineteen," I protested.
"You'll be twenty soon."
"Wow. Can't wait to celebrate with a sword to my throat and a man who probably bathes in the blood of his enemies."
He had sighed. "It's not forever."
"It literally is."
"Chloe—"
"I WAS EATING NOODLES."
Anyway. Flash forward. Now we're engaged.
Life is weird.
---
Which brings us to him.
Kieran.
He hadn't said much since the Varron incident. Just stayed out of the way. Or behind me. Or watching me from across a room like I was a particularly volatile type of magic.
And now he was standing in the palace garden, alone, backlit by fairy lights like he was posing for a cursed fragrance ad.
I don't know what possessed me. Maybe it was the pressure. Maybe it was the blush-colored roses that were now haunting my every thought. Maybe I just needed to feel something that wasn't stress.
So I walked up to him.
"You've been avoiding me," I said casually.
He glanced at me, brows slightly raised. "I've been respecting your space."
"Is that what it's called?"
He didn't answer. Which was kind of his thing.
We stood in silence for a beat. Then two. I looked anywhere but at his face.
"I picked blush," I said eventually.
His brow furrowed. "For what?"
"The altar roses."
He blinked. "…Okay."
"I just thought you should know. In case you cared. Or whatever."
Another pause. Then he tilted his head slightly.
"Should I have an opinion about altar flowers?"
"Only if you want me to believe you're emotionally invested in our inevitable marriage."
"I thought choking a man out in your honor was a strong start."
I snorted. "Okay, fair."
And then it happened.
The air shifted.
He took a step closer. Just one.
But it was enough.
Enough to smell his cologne (dark spice, leather, and sin). Enough to notice the way his lashes curled unfairly. Enough to lose my entire train of thought.
His gaze dipped—just barely—to my mouth.
"Chloe," he said.
My name had never sounded so dangerous.
"Yeah?" I whispered, suddenly and tragically breathless.
He didn't touch me.
Didn't move any closer.
But his voice dropped.
"You talk too much when you're nervous."
My brain short-circuited. "I—I'm not nervous."
"You're shaking."
"I—"
"Do you want me to kiss you?"
Well.
I died.
Immediately. On the spot.
"No," I said.
Too fast.
He smirked. Not in a cruel way. In a I know exactly what you meant and I'm going to enjoy watching you squirm way.
Then he stepped back.
Coward.
"I'll see you at the cake tasting," he said, like we hadn't just had a slow-burn heart attack together.
And he left me standing there in the fairy lights, knees weak, mouth dry, brain fried.
I pulled out my phone.
Me: i think i just got emotionally jumped
Seraphina 💅: U BETTER NOT HAVE LET HIM KISS U BEFORE THE WEDDING OR I WILL RAGE
Me: we didn't kiss
Seraphina 💅: BUT U THOUGHT ABOUT IT
Me: blocked and reported
---
That night, I lay in bed clutching a pillow like it owed me rent.
This wedding was going to ruin me.
And if Kieran looked at me like that again, I might just let it.