Chloe.
The Veylinthian Grand Hall had never looked this sparkly. Chandeliers blazed like stars caught in crystal cages. Silk banners—half in crimson, half in that Caelorthian cold silver—draped from the high ceilings in neat, threatening waves. The air reeked of diplomacy, roses, and expensive wine.
And here I was. Dressed like a stitched-up truce.
The final version of my engagement gown shimmered like war and wealth. Crimson silk, silver-threaded embroidery tracing dragons and lilies down my sides, and an off-shoulder neckline that whispered: "I'm royalty, but I might stab you."
My hair was coiled into an elaborate bun that took three ladies-in-waiting and one minor hair-related breakdown to perfect. My lips matched the dress. My nerves did not.
"You look divine," Seraphina whispered, eyes wide and admiring. "Like a goddess who taxes people."
"That's the dream," I muttered, exhaling as the trumpets blared.
We were about to begin.
Rachael—my mother, the Queen—stood near the front of the dais, flanked by nobles who all looked like they'd swallowed lemons. Her posture was perfect. Her smile? Practiced. But even she looked at me with something tighter than nerves. Pity. A mother's ache.
That made everything worse.
A servant offered me a goblet of cordial with trembling hands. Trembling. Like I was a dragon and he was fresh meat. He didn't meet my eyes.
Good. That meant Kieran's reputation was doing its job.
And speaking of—
He entered through the opposite wing of the hall like the villain in a love story. Tall, dressed in Caelorthian black with a silver sash, and absolutely, stupidly, outrageously gorgeous.
The crowd parted for him like he was made of knives.
Someone behind me muttered, "That's him? Gods."
He stopped beside me. Didn't speak.
But his presence was loud. Loud enough to hush my heartbeat.
The ceremony began with too many words. Declarations, formal blessings, names of ancestors I didn't even know we had. I smiled. Nodded. Thought about how many ways I could fake a fainting spell.
Then came the moment.
"Princess Chloe of Veylinthia, and Prince Kieran of Caelorth," the High Chancellor announced, "stand before the realms in unity. The gods and nations bear witness to their union."
We stepped forward.
And that was when it happened.
A noble—drunk, or dumb, or both—lurched a little too close. I didn't recognize him, but his robes were Veylinthian. High-ranking. Entitled.
He smiled, the kind that made my stomach twist.
"Congratulations, Princess," he slurred. "Your beauty is..." His hand reached out, grazing the edge of my sleeve.
Time slowed.
He touched me.
Kieran moved.
No one saw it—he was too fast—but suddenly, the noble was on the floor. Gasping. Choking.
Kieran's hand was still lowered from where he'd struck.
The room fell silent.
Not horrified. Just... stunned.
Rachael didn't blink.
The noble whimpered, clutching his jaw.
Kieran turned to the rest of the room, voice like steel wrapped in velvet. "Touch her again, and you'll lose more than your tongue."
He didn't yell. He didn't need to.
No one moved after that.
And suddenly, I wasn't scared. I was seen.
The priest continued, visibly shaken. "The exchange of tokens...?"
Kieran handed me a ring. Not a traditional Caelorthian band, nor Veylinthian—it was something else entirely. Black metal, sleek and silent.
He slid it onto my finger without breaking eye contact.
When it was my turn, I gave him the ring I'd had made. Silver. Elegant. Sharp-edged.
A warning. A promise. A challenge.
He smirked. Just a little.
We turned to face the crowd. Applause broke out, hesitant at first, then thunderous.
It was done.
We were engaged.
At the betrothal banquet, the palace ballroom was crammed with people who smiled with their teeth and toasted with their enemies.
I was seated beside Kieran at the long royal table, where every eye watched our every move.
He didn't say much.
But when I fumbled my fork once, he caught it before it hit the ground. Handed it back without a word.
When a noble tried to ask me about wedding dress colors, he cut in smoothly: "That won't be your concern."
I think I fell in love a little.
He stood for his speech before I could even pretend to stop him.
"My kingdom and I have no interest in flowers or pomp," he said. "But we value strength. And Princess Chloe has that in abundance. Let any who question her place know this: she stands with Caelorth now. And Caelorth does not bow."
Silence.
Then applause.
Then cheering.
I hated how warm I felt.
When it was my turn, I stood on slightly trembling legs. Cleared my throat.
"I was raised with duty," I began. "With expectations. With the idea that love was a luxury, and alliance a necessity."
I looked at Kieran.
"But I think sometimes, duty brings you exactly who you didn't know you needed."
Soft gasp. Someone teared up.
"I'm not promising a fairytale. But I promise to fight for this kingdom—and if necessary, with it."
Kieran's hand brushed mine under the table. Barely a touch. But enough.
Later that night, after the guests had thinned and my shoes had given up on existing, I found him in the corridor near the rose windows.
"You're good at that," I said.
He didn't turn. "At what?"
"The whole 'looming warlord who makes people cry and also delivers romantic speeches' thing."
He finally looked at me.
"You were better."
I scoffed. "You punched a noble."
"He touched you."
"That's not usually grounds for facial rearrangement."
"It is now."
My heart did something unwise.
I stepped closer. "You scared my entire family."
"Good."
I rolled my eyes. "You're impossible."
He leaned down. Just a little. "And you're mine."
I punched his shoulder. Lightly. Maybe too lightly.
He caught my hand.
Didn't let go.
The moonlight hit us like a spotlight. Everything else? Gone.
The war. The duties. The lies. Gone.
It was just us.
And for a terrifying, exhilarating second—I didn't feel trapped.
I felt chosen.