I stand at the balcony overlooking the eastern courtyard, my hands steady despite the storm inside. Today, she arrives—my fiancée, a stranger bound to me by treaty and title. At twenty-four, I’ve trained for war, governance, diplomacy, but never for this: the trembling anticipation of first sight.

Below, the royal carriage rolls through the iron gates, dust rising like smoke. My brother leans beside me, smirking. 'Hope she’s pretty,' he says, 'otherwise, what’s the point of all this?' His words cut deeper than they should. He’s two years younger, but in every contest that mattered—charm, wit, courage—he’s tried to outshine me.

And now, he’ll meet her first.

The doors open. A hand emerges—gloved, delicate. My breath stills. This woman holds my future, perhaps my heart, and possibly my downfall. Do I descend now and claim my place beside her… or let protocol decide?