Chloe
If wedding preparations were a headache, engagement ceremony preparations were a full-blown stroke.
"Stand still," one of the junior attendants muttered under her breath.
I raised an eyebrow, turning slowly to face her. "Would you like to repeat that?"
She paled. "I—I meant the hem, Your Highness. It's just a little uneven. My apologies."
"Mm." I looked away, letting her squirm for a few seconds too long.
Servants should know by now: never disrespect a future queen. Especially not one whose fiancé could burn a room down with a glance.
The royal tailor adjusted the bodice of my dress with trembling hands, and I could feel the weight of everyone's eyes on me. Or rather—on the dress.
It was a deep Veylinthian crimson, lined with Caelorthian silver embroidery. Two nations stitched into one silhouette. A diplomatic masterpiece, apparently. Also, extremely itchy.
"This neckline is practically treason," I muttered, tugging the fabric higher.
The head seamstress offered a nervous smile. "Queen Rachael approved the design herself."
Of course she did.
---
The ceremony was in three days. Three.
Three days of etiquette drills, diplomatic rehearsals, and trying not to spontaneously combust from stress. The worst part? Kieran was always there. Like a very attractive haunting.
He didn't say much, but when he entered a room, people moved. Servants straightened. Officials went stiff. Even my mother's tone dropped a pitch when he was near.
We hadn't spoken since the hallway incident—the one where he got too close and said things that made my blood feel like static.
But now, as I stepped out of the fitting room, there he was.
Leaning casually against a marble column like he was carved from the same stone.
"You're early," I said.
He said nothing for a beat. Then his eyes flicked over the dress.
I did not flush.
I absolutely flushed.
"The crest looks good on you," he said.
"What, the dress or the symbolism?"
"Both."
Then—because he apparently had no respect for personal space or my sanity—he stepped forward and adjusted a fold of fabric at my waist.
I forgot how to breathe.
"There," he murmured. "It suits you better like that."
"Do you... know how to sew?"
"No. But I know power when I see it."
--
Walking beside him was like walking next to a storm you weren't sure was going to destroy or defend you.
We moved through the palace corridors together, the staff bowing twice as fast when he passed. Even the royal guards tensed. He didn't do anything overt. He didn't need to.
"You'll be expected to speak at the ceremony," he said.
"Oh joy. Nothing like public performance anxiety in front of warring nobles."
He didn't smile, but his eyes glinted. "You've done worse."
"Not with cleavage."
He looked at me. "It's a weapon, too."
"Wonderful," I muttered. "My neckline is now a diplomatic threat."
---
By afternoon, I was summoned to the eastern parlor where the real torment began: the ceremonial planning committee.
Queen Rachael—my mother—was overseeing it personally. Which meant everything had to be perfect. Or else.
She didn't even look up when I entered. "Chloe, straighten your back. You look like you're wilting."
"I am wilting."
Florists and decorators circled me like vultures.
"Do you prefer crimson lilies or Caelorthian frost roses for the centerpiece?"
"Sparkling berry cordial or imported mint water from the northern provinces?"
"Would you like your initials embossed in gold or silver on the napkins?"
My eye twitched. "I would like a quiet death."
"Chloe," Rachael warned.
Before I could reply with something sharp, the doors swung open.
Kieran entered like a blade being unsheathed.
The entire room stilled.
Even my mother went silent.
"I'll take it from here," he said simply.
A decorator started to protest. "She has a tight schedule—"
"It's been rescheduled," he said.
Everyone obeyed without another word. Even Rachael stepped back.
Then he looked at me.
"Walk with me."
He placed a hand lightly on my back and guided me out of the room.
We didn't speak until we were out of earshot.
"You looked like you were seconds from violence," he said.
"I was. Someone tried to match our house colors with peach. Peach, Kieran."
"Unforgivable."
I glanced up at him. "Did you just... make a joke?"
He didn't answer.
Which was worse.
---
Back in my chambers, I collapsed onto the chaise like a tragic heroine.
"They treat me like a porcelain doll one moment and a sacrificial lamb the next," I grumbled.
Kieran leaned against the doorway. "Because they don't know which one you are."
"What do you think I am?"
He took a step forward. Then another.
Until he was standing right in front of me, looking down like I was something dangerous wrapped in silk.
"I think," he said, voice low, "you're a queen no one sees coming."
And just like that, I wasn't so sure who was haunting who.
---
That night, I stared at the dress hanging near my wardrobe. The light from the sconces made it shimmer like blood and silver.
It wasn't just a dress.
It was a declaration.
A
nd if I had to stand before two kingdoms and give a speech, I was going to do it with my chin high, my spine straight, and the most terrifying man in the room at my side.