---
Irene woke up suddenly, gasping for air from a familiar nightmare…
She couldn't recall the details clearly, but she knew the feeling: falling, eyes watching, the ground swallowing her whole.
She sat still for a few moments, then stood up silently.
She entered the bathroom. The cold water awakened her senses, but it brought no comfort.
After a few minutes, her maid helped her into a simple dark gown, tying the neck ribbon without a word.
Irene was about to sit down when a knock came at the door.
A royal servant entered, his expression serious, and said calmly,
"His Majesty the King… summons you now, to his office."
She froze for a moment.
Her heart clenched, but she nodded and followed him.
Her steps were slow at first… Inner tension she didn't show, but it was present in every move.
King Arxen never summoned anyone without reason.
At this hour, the corridors were nearly empty. Only guards stood like statues, a few servants bowed without raising their heads, and pale light filtered through the tall windows.
Her footsteps were light, but not confident, as if the ground itself were watching her.
They reached the office door.
The guard said nothing.
He opened it slowly and stepped back.
She entered.
The scent of leather, musk, and old paper filled the air.
Tall walls lined with dark wood panels, a back library full of heavy books, maps, ancient swords, a statue of a silver eagle perched on a base of black stone.
And at the heart of it all…
He was there.
King Arxen.
Seated behind his desk, leaning slightly forward, as if he had been waiting for her all along.
He didn't speak. He didn't rise. His eyes had been fixed on her from the moment she entered, cold, devoid of welcome.
He gestured to the chair before him.
"Sit."
She obeyed quietly. Sat down, her hand gripping the robe beneath the table to hide the trembling in her fingers.
She raised her eyes to him cautiously, but he didn't look at her directly.
He was flipping through papers, as if they were more important than her.
He said without lifting his eyes:
"The ceremony is in seven days."
Then he suddenly looked up at her and continued,
"Everything is arranged. The guests... carefully selected individuals. Leaders, diplomats, representatives of allied kingdoms."
He paused for a moment.
"But there is one person... this kingdom chose long ago."
Then he looked at her directly, for the first time.
"For you."
Her eyes remained locked on him. She hadn't yet understood.
He spoke in his usual heavy tone:
"His name is Lukas Theodore Valerian.
Nephew of the King of Valerian."
Silence. Then he continued in a firm voice:
"One of their military heroes of the past decade. In their lands, he is known as the Hero of the North. He fought in the war against the Kingdom of Esfarda and won in a short time — before he even turned twenty."
The air in the room grew colder… or perhaps it was just her breath growing heavier.
He continued without waiting for a response:
"Your marriage to him has been arranged. As part of the new political agreement between us and Valerian."
Then he looked at the wall for a moment, before returning his cutting gaze to her:
"I don't want your opinion. Nor your comment. Just do as you're told."
His voice lowered slightly, but became harsher:
"I don't want you to mingle with anyone. No words. No conversations. No contact during the ceremony."
Then he leaned forward slightly, locking eyes with her:
"Any small deviation from the plan could ruin everything. You are a piece in a broader plan, and your presence at the ceremony does not mean you are the center of the celebration."
Then he continued with an icy coldness:
"The ceremony was only held to show the world that our kingdom does not humiliate anyone, nor rejects direct diplomatic proposals. The Kingdom of Blahana had been expecting me to marry off my eldest daughter Selina to one of their princes. So I sent them another message…
A girl no one knows, with no place, no status."
A short, cold smile passed over his lips, then he said:
"Valerian will get what suits them best."
He paused… then concluded:
"Your wedding to Lukas Theodore Valerian will take place after the ceremony. Be ready."
She said nothing.
She didn't ask "why?" nor "when did you decide that?"
She showed no rejection, no defeat.
She sat quietly, hands in her lap, shoulders tense, eyes fixed on a point at the edge of his desk.
He finally said,
"You may leave."
She stood.
Bowed her head slightly, as required, then turned and walked out with steady steps, revealing nothing of what boiled inside her.
But once the door closed behind her, the heaviness of the air hit her…
As if the ice in that room had followed her out.
---
Irene left her father's office with the same steady steps she entered with, but inside her, nothing was steady.
She didn't head to her chambers as expected.
Instead… she turned immediately toward the west wing, where the lesser library was located.
No one was there at this hour. The servants were busy with preparations, and the guards didn't care about her movements.
She pushed the door quietly and entered.
The smell of old paper welcomed her as always, a familiar feeling offering her some peace.
She walked between the tall wooden shelves, her fingers brushing across book titles like someone well-acquainted with finding refuge in silence.
"Lukas Theodore Valerian…"
She whispered to herself.
She began searching, book after book, until she found what she was looking for:
"Princes of Valerian: The Lineage and the New Era."
She sat on the nearby chair and opened the pages carefully.
She skimmed the introduction, until her eyes landed on his name.
> "Lukas Theodore Valerian, second son of Prince Derek Valerian, and heir to the Golden Sword, one of the north's most prominent symbols of strength. Born in Winterive Palace, he began his military training at the age of six under the commander of the royal army. Known for his early bravery and knightly conduct, all before the age of ten."
Irene stared at the lines, her heartbeat shifting its rhythm.
> "Led his first battle at age twenty, becoming the youngest commander in Valerian's history to receive the Double Eagle Medal after crushing a rebellion in the mountain provinces. Loved by his people, strict in politics, a man of few words, surrounded by an aura of authority and respect."
She slowly closed the book.
Then looked ahead… nothing but the wall.
"So… this is the man he chose for me?"
She said quietly.
Then she laughed softly… a short laugh, the kind that escapes when you don't know whether to cry or marvel.
But she didn't stop there.
She moved to another shelf and pulled out a book titled:
"Structure of Governance in Valerian – Family, Power, and Councils."
Then another on the administrative hierarchy of the kingdom, and a third about political relations between Valerian and the other realms.
She sat on the floor and opened them one by one.
Page after page, mental notes, names to memorize, genealogies to study.
She resembled a soldier preparing for her own war.
And when she closed the last book, something inside her had shifted…
Not joy, nor confusion… but satisfaction.
She breathed quietly, then said inwardly, as if speaking to fate itself:
"This… is better than I planned."
She fell silent, then looked toward the small window where the first morning light crept in:
"Is fate finally on my side?
I can truly get close to the royal family like this…
It might even be possible… to control everything."
Then her inner voice grew firmer, losing all wonder or hesitation.
She looked forward, as if her father's face was etched onto the opposite wall, and said to herself, with sharp sarcasm:
"Dear father…
You think I'm a chess piece in your hand.
You think you move me as you please, across the board, in silence, without resistance…"
Then she leaned forward, as if whispering to herself in the dark:
"But now… you've made me the queen piece in your crooked game.
And I will be…
Everything you hoped for."
A short laugh passed her lips—sarcastic, quiet, but laced with danger.
---
Before leaving the lesser library, she reached for one last book quietly.
It bore a simple title:
"Key Figures of the Valerian Court – A Contemporary Political Analysis."
It wasn't heavy, but its true weight lay in its contents.
It held names, positions, alliances, and networks of influence…
Everything she needed to understand how power operated there.
---
She returned to her chambers in silence.
She hid the book carefully, then sat beside a candle and began reading.
She didn't eat. She didn't speak.
Until the sun had set, and its faint glow reflected in her focused eyes.
---
A week passed.
Seven days of fast-paced, exhausting preparations—full of movement, whispers, and curiosity.
Irene was not summoned again to her father's office.
But orders came in her name, and instructions were drafted for her.
As if she was no longer just a girl living in the shadows… but now a public project.
---
On the eve of the ceremony, she sat by her bed.
Her eyes were red, her brain pounding from exhaustion, her heart skipping every time she blinked.
She opened a drawer and took out a small bottle.
She swallowed two sleeping pills.
Then slipped into bed quietly, allowing silence to swallow her whole.
---
At exactly five in the morning…
A light knock on the door.
"My lady… my lady, it's time."
She opened her eyes slowly.
The room was still dark, but the sound of preparations outside was clear.
She rose from bed, and when she opened the door, she was surprised to see an unusual number of servants in her wing's corridor.
All of them there… waiting for her.
---
They led her to the bath. New products she hadn't seen before were brought out. The water was warm, the perfumes subtle.
Her hair was dried, brushed, and styled with utmost delicacy…
Every move was precise. Every touch executed as if preparing a true queen.
Then came the dress.
A dark green gown, one-shouldered, with little ornamentation…
But the fine fabric and its fluid elegance were enough to make her an unforgettable sight.
She chose to wear only minimal jewelry—small earrings and a thin bracelet.
And despite it all… she was "a vision of beauty."
Even the maids who usually whispered behind her back exchanged genuine looks of astonishment.
One of them murmured as they helped her to her feet:
"I've never seen you like this… you look… stunning."
Irene didn't reply.
But she heard. And she remembered.
---
At exactly one in the afternoon, the outer courtyard buzzed with preparation.
The royal carriage for the procession had arrived.
It was the "Coming-of-Age Procession," a weekly tradition in the kingdom…
But everything changed when the girl was from the royal family.
More guards, larger crowds, closed roads, and all eyes on her.
---
Irene stood before the window, watching the carriage settle in the courtyard.
Behind her, the servants were getting ready, horses being prepared, soldiers inspecting arrangements.
She placed a hand on her chest…
The same chest that hadn't stopped pounding for a week.
But she would show nothing.
---
And here…
The procession begins.