Prepare the palace," King Robbert declared. "Our new bride is on her way."
The announcement spread through the corridors of the Volemont Palace like wildfire. Servants bustled about, polishing the marble floors until they shimmered, adjusting flower arrangements flown in from six kingdoms, and plating dishes representing seven elite cultures—each crafted by royal chefs trained in imperial cuisine. The air buzzed with anticipation and the sweet aroma of luxury.
Lucien, unaware of who the bride truly was, prepared with reluctant elegance. Though his mind protested, his body obeyed—suiting up in his finest black tuxedo, tailored to hug his tall frame perfectly. His dark brown curls were styled neatly, and he chose his favorite polished shoes and a designer cologne that smelled like black rose and woodsmoke.
He might not enjoy being prince, but fashion was a love language he spoke fluently.
In her quarters, Queen Estelle Violette Volemont embodied regality. Her royal blue silk gown rippled like the ocean with every step. Adorned in sapphire jewels, her red hair straightened and glossy, she looked more like a goddess than a queen—flawless, elegant, and terrifyingly composed.
King Robbert stood beside her, dressed in his ceremonial robe of black and gold—an emblem of his enduring power. His gaze was steady, proud. Today was the beginning of his dynasty's next chapter.
---
The Adekule family arrived in grandeur.
Jahzara clutched her mother's hand, her nerves hidden behind a mask of practiced poise. Her bridal attire was a masterful blend of heritage and class—an emerald green and black gown woven with ancestral symbols and regal embroidery. Her hair, sculpted into a crown-like updo, was adorned with beads. Her makeup was soft yet bold, glowing with caramel warmth.
The palace doors swung open for them. Servants stood in perfect formation, wearing deep ocean blue uniforms. The men donned pressed black trousers and boots, the women in matching skirts with stockings and heels, their hair neatly tied back.
Two maids guided the Adekules through the palace into the Grand Dining Hall, a space reserved for monarchs and treaties. They had been to the palace before, but today, it felt like walking into the belly of a legend.
Elias Adekule, proud and composed in his pristine Igbo attire, stepped forward and bowed. "Your Majesty, Your Highness, thank you for receiving us."
Queen Estelle's eyes drifted to Jahzara. "She is more beautiful than I imagined," she said softly, stepping closer. "Come, dear, let me take a look at you."
Jahzara walked forward, her spine straight, her expression blank.
"She will give my son many babies," Estelle said with a nod, a pleased grin spreading across her red lips.
Jahzara froze. Babies? Is that all they saw in her?
But she smiled faintly, swallowing the insult. This was her escape. This was freedom—however wrapped in chains.
"You may sit," Estelle added.
The two families began discussing the wedding—the location, the royal guest list, the silk color themes, even the crowns to be worn.
"My apologies, dear," King Robbert said mid-conversation. "Our first son isn't here yet."
Jahzara blinked. First son?
So Isaac wasn't her fiancé?
She stole a glance at him—Isaac's smirk had a predatory glint to it. She exhaled in relief. She had heard stories about him. Cold. Ruthless. Dangerous. She had feared the worst.
Suddenly—
The grand doors burst open.
All heads turned. Silence fell like snow.
He walked in like royalty itself—tall, polished, confident. His tuxedo fit like skin, and his presence filled the room.
Jahzara's mouth parted. Her heart dropped.
Lucas?
Her parents bowed. The Adekules bowed. She did not.
Lucien's gaze found her instantly. "Jahzara?! What are you doing here?"
The room buzzed with confusion.
"Lucas?" she whispered, her voice thin.
Estelle narrowed her eyes. "Hold on… Who is Lucas?"
Zara pointed. "Him."
Gasps filled the room.
"No," Estelle corrected, stepping forward. "He is Lucien Alaric Volemont, Crown Prince of Edevora."
Zahzara stumbled back. "So you lied? About everything?"
"Zara, wait," Lucien said, stepping toward her.
Lilian Adekule—her mother—interjected, "How do you two know each other?"
Zara looked around, her head spinning. "We met in the palace garden days ago. He told me his name was Lucas. He didn't say anything about being a prince. I didn't know he was the man I was supposed to marry!"
Her voice cracked.
Lucien opened his mouth to speak, but one glare from his father froze him.
"I only wanted to know who she was without the titles," he finally said. "I didn't know it was her either…"
Jahzara shook her head and turned. "I need air."
She stormed out, the train of her bridal dress sweeping behind her like a warrior's cloak. The room stood frozen in stunned silence.
The queen looked at her son.
King Robbert's voice was steel. "Fix it."
Lucien, for once, had no clever reply.