Her desk had been buried under papers since dawn. She’d gone through notes and memories, filling nearly half her journal.
No clarity came. Just the same old lies rearranged into new sentences, as if she could trick meaning into appearing by endurance alone.
Now she sat in the antechamber outside the grand ballroom, spine straight, hands folded. The murmur of the reception bled through the doors: clinking glasses, ceremonial laughter. It had all begun.
The engagement gown was in a dark, regal blue that pooled elegantly around her feet. The color choice was deliberate, gold embroidery wove along the blue bodice in delicate patterns reminiscent of sun rays meeting ocean waves, catching the candlelight with every movement.
Out of equal respect, she knew that Prince Alaric would wear garments of red and silver.
Vesena stood a few steps away, watching with keen eyes. “Shall I bring water, my lady? Or wine?”
Evelyne shook her head. “No, thank you.”
She stilled her hands on the arms of the chair, fingers curling just slightly—just enough to feel the pressure of her own skin.
The door creaked open, and Evelyne turned just as Alaric stepped inside. There was no teasing smirk on his lips, no playful glint in his eye. No thread on his neck. Instead, he greeted her with a polite nod, his hands clasped behind his back.
“Your Highness,” he greeted smoothly, his voice steady.
Evelyne rose from her seat, tilting her head slightly. “Prince Alaric.”
His gaze lingered on her, slow and deliberate, tracing the line of her gown before meeting her eyes. “You look breathtaking,” he said softly. “Our colors were made for you.”
Evelyne paused for a beat before offering the courtesy in return. “And you wear our formal robes well too.”
It was true. The combination of red and silver did not clash with the warmth of his olive skin as she had anticipated. In fact, it suited him.
And yet... it wasn’t him. Not truly. The colors suited him, but they didn’t belong to him. There was something about the rich blue and gold of his own kingdom—that aligned with the man she had begun to observe.
At the doors to the ballroom, the chamberlain lifted his staff and prepared to make the announcement.
Alaric extended a hand in a sweeping gesture toward the doors, his expression warm. “My lady.”
Evelyne gave a small nod, gathering the folds of her gown as she stepped forward. Instead of offering his arm, he fell into step beside her.
Chamberlain's voice rang out, clear and commanding as the double doors began to open before them.
“Presenting Her Highness, Princess Evelyne of Edrathen, the Jewel of the North, Daughter of King Rhaedor. Accompanyingher, His Highness, Prince Alaric of Varantia, Heir to the Throne of the South, Son of Emperor Emrys and Empress Aurevia!”
Evelyne and Alaric entered the grand ballroom. Hundreds of nobles, chancellors, advisors, and foreign emissaries stood gathered beneath the glittering chandeliers. The king stood at the far end of the grand chamber. When his eyes met Evelyne’s, he gave a small nod.
The ballroom unfolded before them like something out of a dream carved in gold. Tall arched windows lined the walls, their panes catching the last light of day and scattering it across polished stone in soft glints. Dozens of chandeliers hung above like constellations suspended in motion. Evelyne always liked them.
When they finally reached her father, Evelyne made an elegant curtsy.
“We welcome you both,” the king greeted. He inclined his head slightly toward Alaric. “Prince Alaric, you honor our court with your presence. We trust Edrathen has treated you well.”
Alaric, standing tall beside Evelyne, bowed his head respectfully. “Your Majesty, your kingdom’s hospitality has been most gracious,” he replied smoothly. “I am honored to be welcomed among you.”
The court watched them like predators who had already tasted blood. Glamour poised perfectly atop judgment. And suddenly, that judgment had two targets.
It had always been her: the Cursed Bride, the daughter of a cold throne and colder traditions.Poor thing, dangerous thing, wrong thing.
But now Alaric stood beside her.
She wondered if he realized yet. If he understood that marriage to her came with more than iron, duties and the diplomatic thrill of alliance. That the stench of gossip clung likesmoke, and no matter how golden his crown might gleam, it would follow him too.
She knew for a fact that nearly half the invited nobility had sent regrets, wrapped in ribbons and empty pleasantries. And those who had come? They stood in tight clusters, watching them like hawks.
