Morning light spilled across the table—
Lady Elora sat with perfect posture, her tea untouched.
Across from her, her husband skimmed through a stack of documents, as if the previous night had been nothing more than a minor inconvenience.
"You made a scene," he said flatly.
Elora didn't flinch.
"I managed one."
His eyes lifted slightly.
"Prince Nolan refusing the engagement in the middle of the court is not something that can be managed."
Elora's fingers rested lightly against her cup.
"It can be corrected."
Then—
"We will not lose that match," she added.
Her tone left no room for doubt.
Her husband leaned back slightly, studying her.
"It will require more than persistence now."
Elora replied.
"Liora is still the most suitable choice."
"That may not matter if the prince disagrees."
Elora's gaze sharpened.
"Then he will be reminded of what is expected of him."
"And if he resists?"
"He won't," she said.
Then, after a beat—
"He simply needs to be handled properly."
That was when she shifted.
"The real issue," she said, "is Freya."
Her husband exhaled faintly.
"She left the banquet."
"She drew attention."
"That's not the same."
"It is when it affects us."
Silence stretched.
Then he spoke again—
More thoughtfully this time.
"She has her mother's face."
Elora's expression hardened.
"Yes."
Unspoken history lingering beneath it.
A mistake.
A moment.
One he had never corrected.
"And that," he continued, "is not entirely useless."
Elora looked at him.
"You can't be serious."
"I'm being practical."
That word— practical.
Like Freya was something to calculate.
Not a person.
"She was never meant to remain here long-term," he added.
"You knew that."
"I know exactly what she is," Elora said coldly.
"So do I."
Then he leaned forward slightly.
"We should use it."
Elora didn't respond immediately.
Because she understood what he meant.
And she hated that it made sense.
"She draws attention," he continued.
"Even when she tries not to."
A pause.
"Men notice her."
Elora's lips pressed into a thin line.
"That is precisely the problem."
"It's an opportunity," he corrected.
Another pause.
"Her face alone could secure alliances we haven't been able to reach."
Elora's gaze sharpened further.
"You want to bargain with her?"
"I want to place her where she is useful."
"She was a mistake," he added quietly. "But that doesn't mean she has to remain one."
That—
Was the truth of it.
Elora exhaled slowly.
Then—
"Fine," she said.
"We marry her off."
"To someone who benefits us."
"Of course."
Then Elora added—
"She will not be given a choice."
His expression didn't change.
"She doesn't expect one."
Silence settled again.
Then—
"And Liora?" he asked.
Elora's posture straightened slightly.
"Will not be replaced," she said immediately.
A flicker of something sharper entered her tone.
"We have invested too much into that match."
Her husband nodded once.
"Then we push harder."
"Yes."
Elora's gaze turned distant.
"The engagement will still happen," she said. "It simply requires… adjustment."
Then, colder—
"And this time, there will be no interference."
The meaning was clear.
Her husband reached for his documents again.
"I'll begin inquiries for Freya."
Elora lifted her tea at last.
"Do so."
And just like that—
Freya will be traded away like something valuable…
But unwanted.
***
-The Beaumont kingdom-
The fire crackled softly in Soren's private chambers as Eugene stepped inside, shutting the door behind him.
Soren stood near the window, one hand clasped behind his back, staring out into the city below.
"You asked for information," Eugene said.
Soren didn't turn.
"Well?"
Eugene approached slowly.
"Her name is Freya Viremont."
That alone made Soren's gaze shift slightly.
Eugene noticed.
"She is the illegitimate daughter of Lord Viremont," he continued.
"Born from an affair with a foreign woman—some kind of dancer, from what I've gathered."
Soren remained still.
"She is not well regarded within her household," Eugene added.
"Quite the opposite, actually."
That earned more of Soren's attention.
"How so?"
Eugene folded his hands behind his back.
"The Viremont household treats her more as an inconvenience than family."
Soren's eyes narrowed faintly.
"And her father?"
Eugene gave a dry look.
"He tolerates her existence when convenient."
Silence settled.
Then—
"She is being prepared for marriage," Eugene said.
That made Soren turn fully.
"To who?"
"No one yet," Eugene replied.
"But from what I heard, her family intends to use her beauty to secure alliances."
A pause.
"Sell her off, essentially."
Something dark flickered behind Soren's gaze.
Eugene immediately noticed.
And sighed internally.
Then—
"Find out who they intend to marry her to."
Eugene stared.
"…Why?"
Soren's expression remained unreadable.
"Because I'm curious."
"You are never just curious."
That finally made Soren smile.
A slow, dangerous thing.
"Then perhaps," he said softly,
"I've finally found something worth being curious in."
Eugene rubbed his temple.
"You are going to become a problem, aren't you?"
Soren turned back toward the dark window.
Watching nothing.
Thinking of golden hair.
Green eyes.
A small framed girl leaping from balconies like she feared nothing.
A girl who looked more wild than noble.
Like something untamed.
A faint smile touched his lips.
"She reminds me of a feral cat," he murmured.
Eugene blinked.
"…What?"
Soren's eyes darkened.
"All claws and instinct," he said quietly.
Then softer—
"I wonder what she'd look like once tamed."
Eugene immediately regretted being in the room.
"Oh, no."
Soren chuckled.
And for the first time that night—
He looked genuinely entertained.
---
Later that day—
Freya moved with a stiffness that was becoming familiar.
She dressed herself, her fingers careful over the laces of her gown. Each bend sent a dull fire across her back, a reminder etched into skin and muscle.
The sunlight caught the loose strands of her hair, making them shimmer faintly—
She heard the door open without looking up.
Liora stepped inside, closing it quietly behind her.
"You're still in your chambers," she said.
"I was told to stay here." Freya said.
Liora walked closer.
"To think about your behavior," she added.
Freya finally looked at her.
"Or to make me easier to move."
Liora's expression didn't change.
"You always think you know more than you do."
"I know that I was punished for something I didn't do," Freya said evenly.
"And I know that you enjoyed it."
Liora smiled slightly.
"I enjoyed order being restored."
"Order isn't people being silent," she said. "It's you being comfortable."
Liora's smile faded.
"You should be grateful."
"I'm not," Freya replied.
Then she stood up.
For a moment, neither of them spoke.
"I heard what happened at the banquet," Freya said quietly.
Liora's gaze sharpened.
"Oh?"
Something shifted in Liora's posture.
Something brittle.
"You don't know anything about that."
"I know he refused you."
Liora's hands curled slightly at her sides.
"He just wanted to announce it...later."
Freya let out a soft breath.
"Or he changed his mind."
Liora stepped closer.
"Don't."
Freya tilted her head slightly.
"Does it bother you?" she asked softly.
"That he might have changed his mind?"
The slap wasn't unexpected.
But it still stung.
Liora's breath was sharp.
"You will never have what I have," she said through her teeth.
Freya slowly touched her cheek.
Looking her sister in the eye.
"I don't want it," she said quietly.
***
That evening, a summons came.
Not for Liora.
For Freya.
The message was simple.
"Your presence is required in your father's study."
Freya didn't argue.
She walked through the quiet corridors, servants averting their gazes as she passed. Whispers followed, softer now, more cautious.
She didn't knock.
She simply opened the heavy oak door and stepped inside.
Her father was behind the desk.
Elora stood by the window, her back to the room.
Freya stopped in the center of the rug.
"You wanted to see me."
Her father looked up from the papers in front of him.
His expression was calm.
Almost detached.
"There has been a discussion," he said.
"About your future."
Freya didn't flinch.
"It's a conversation that should include me."
Elora turned slowly.
Her face was composed.
"You have shown a tendency toward willfulness," Elora said.
"And that has consequences."
Freya waited.
"A marriage has been arranged for you."
Freya's breath caught.
Then she found her footing again.
"With who?"
"Lord Gareth of Northglen."
Freya had heard the name.
A widower. Twice her age. Known for his cold demeanor and distant lands.
"A match that benefits this household," her father added.
As if that were all that mattered.
"And if I refuse?" Freya asked.
Her father's expression hardened instantly.
"You will not."
Freya's jaw tightened.
"That wasn't an answer."
His hand slammed against the desk.
"It is the only answer you need."
The sound cracked through the room.
Still—
Freya didn't back down.
"You would send me away to a man twice my age?" she demanded.
"To someone I do not know and did not choose?"
Elora let out a humorless laugh.
"You think girls like you are afforded a choice?"
Freya's eyes narrowed.
"Girls like me?"
"Illegitimate," Elora said coldly.
"You should be grateful anyone of status would take you at all."
Freya's blood boiled.
"You should be ashamed of yourselves."
Silence.
Her father's face darkened instantly.
"What did you say?"
Freya stepped forward.
"You treat me like filth for crimes I never committed," she hissed.
"Then expect gratitude when you sell me off like livestock—"
"ENOUGH!"
His voice thundered so loud it shook the room.
But Freya was beyond fear now.
"No," she snapped back.
"I will not marry him."
Her father stared at her.
He rose from his chair.
"You are in no position to refuse."
"I'd rather die first."
The room froze.
Elora inhaled sharply.
And then—
Her father's face twisted with fury.
"Guards."
Freya's stomach dropped.
The door opened immediately.
Two men entered.
Freya turned, panic finally flashing across her face.
"What are you doing—?"
"Take her below," her father ordered coldly.
Her breath caught.
"What?"
"You clearly cannot be trusted to behave rationally," Elora said smoothly.
"And we will not risk you disgracing this family by running."
Freya's eyes widened.
"No—"
The guards seized her arms.
She struggled instantly.
"LET GO OF ME!"
"You will remain confined," her father said, unmoved, "until your wedding day."
Pure terror surged through her.
"You can't do this!"
Her father's voice was merciless.
"I can do whatever I please with what belongs to me."
The words hit like a slap.
The guards dragged her backward toward the door.
"No! LET ME GO—!"
Liora appeared in the doorway then—
Watching.
And smiling.
Freya's heart broke at the sight.
"You're monsters!" she screamed.
No one answered.
They dragged her down cold stone staircases—
Past servant halls—
Past torchlit corridors—
Down into the dark beneath the estate.
And finally—
To the dungeon.
The heavy iron door creaked open.
The guards shoved her inside.
She stumbled, falling hard against the stone floor.
The door slammed shut behind her.
And the lock clicked.
Freya scrambled to her feet, rushing the bars.
"LET ME OUT!"
No answer.
Only footsteps fading away.
She gripped the iron, panic rising in her chest.
Tears burned her eyes.
She was trapped.
Truly trapped.
No sunlight.
No escape.
No one coming for her.
And unless something changed—
The next time that door opened…
Would be for her wedding.
***
-The Beaumont Kingdom-
The doors to Soren's study opened.
Eugene stepped inside carrying several folded documents in hand, his expression more serious than usual.
Soren sat near the fire, one leg crossed over the other, lazily flipping through reports he clearly had no interest in.
Without looking up, he spoke.
"Well?"
Eugene shut the door behind him.
"I have the information you requested."
He slowly set the papers down.
"And?"
Eugene approached the desk.
"Her family has chosen her husband."
Soren's gaze sharpened immediately.
"Who."
Eugene exhaled.
"Lord Gareth of Northglen."
Soren's voice came low.
"Gareth."
Eugene nodded grimly.
"Yes."
Soren leaned back in his chair, eyes darkening.
"He's old enough to be her father."
"Nearly," Eugene replied.
Soren's jaw flexed.
"What else."
Eugene hesitated.
And that alone made Soren's eyes narrow.
"What."
Eugene's tone lowered.
"There are… rumors."
"Speak plainly."
Eugene sighed.
"His first wife died mysteriously."
Silence.
"His second left within a year and returned to her family bruised half to death."
The room became very still.
"He drinks heavily," Eugene continued. "He's known for his temper. His servants rarely remain long. No one in court speaks well of him."
Soren stared.
And for once—
There was no amusement left in his face.
"And they're giving her to him?"
"Yes."
A dangerous quiet filled the room.
Soren stood slowly.
His chair scraped softly against the floor.
Eugene immediately straightened.
Because that look—
That expression—
Never meant anything good.
"When."
"One week from now."
Soren froze.
"One week?"
Eugene nodded once.
"They moved the wedding forward unexpectedly."
Soren's eyes darkened.
"They're afraid she'll run."
That was not a guess.
That was certainty.
Eugene hesitated again.
And Soren noticed.
"What else."
Eugene's voice lowered carefully.
"My sources say she has not been seen in days."
The air shifted instantly.
Soren stared at him.
"…What."
"They believe her family may be keeping her confined until the ceremony."
Then—
The room suddenly felt freezing.
Soren turned away then, pacing slowly toward the window.
His jaw was tight.
His thoughts louder than he wanted them to be. She lingered in his mind more than most people ever managed to.
That wild look in her eyes.
The sharpness of her tongue.
The way she moved like something born untouchable.
And most of all—
The memory of her climbing over that balcony railing without hesitation.
Like she'd rather throw herself into danger than let anyone corner her.
A faint smirk tugged at his lips.
Like a feral cat hissing when cornered.
And the thought of taming something so wild—
Of slowly breaking down all those claws and teeth—
Sounded…
Fun.
His smile deepened.
"She really is like a feral cat," he murmured.
Eugene blinked.
"…What?"
Soren turned slightly, amusement darkening his gaze.
"And I think taming her may prove entertaining."
Eugene stared.
Then groaned.
Soren chuckled softly.
And for once—
He looked genuinely pleased.
"Prepare a letter."
Eugene blinked.
"A… letter?"
Soren turned toward the desk.
"Yes."
Realization hit Eugene immediately.
"Soren—"
"She will not marry Gareth."
His voice was final.
Eugene rubbed his forehead.
"You're truly doing this."
Soren smirked.
"Yes."
He reached for parchment.
"Have my seal prepared."
"And what exactly shall I write?" Eugene asked dryly.
Soren's smile deepened.
"Write that King Soren Beaumont formally requests Lady Freya's hand in marriage."
Eugene nearly choked.
"You're skipping straight to marriage?!"
Soren's eyes glinted.
"If I offer less, they'll refuse."
He dipped the pen in ink.
Eugene stared at him in disbelief.
"You are insane."
Soren chuckled softly.
"Perhaps."
Then quietly—
"But if they think they're handing her to a monster…"
His red eyes gleamed.
"They may as well hand her to one of my choosing."