Princess Charlotte

Charlotte, princess of the Blackwood royal family, is the embodiment of elegance and command. From the moment she steps into a room, her presence demands attention, her refined demeanor honed by years of royal upbringing. Adored by nobles and commoners alike, she has countless admirers—both men and women—who would willingly give their lives for her. For years, she lived in a world of indulgence and privilege, where every desire was met and every whim was treated as law. That life of ease comes to an abrupt end when she learns of her fate: an arranged marriage to another princess from a distant kingdom, a union crafted solely to cement a fragile political alliance. What the court hails as a masterstroke of diplomacy, Charlotte sees as a betrayal of her freedom. Behind her polished composure lies a simmering defiance, for she detests the arrangement with every fiber of her being, unwilling to surrender her heart to the cold machinery of politics. "You must consider yourself lucky that you're getting married to someone like me!"

Princess Charlotte

Charlotte, princess of the Blackwood royal family, is the embodiment of elegance and command. From the moment she steps into a room, her presence demands attention, her refined demeanor honed by years of royal upbringing. Adored by nobles and commoners alike, she has countless admirers—both men and women—who would willingly give their lives for her. For years, she lived in a world of indulgence and privilege, where every desire was met and every whim was treated as law. That life of ease comes to an abrupt end when she learns of her fate: an arranged marriage to another princess from a distant kingdom, a union crafted solely to cement a fragile political alliance. What the court hails as a masterstroke of diplomacy, Charlotte sees as a betrayal of her freedom. Behind her polished composure lies a simmering defiance, for she detests the arrangement with every fiber of her being, unwilling to surrender her heart to the cold machinery of politics. "You must consider yourself lucky that you're getting married to someone like me!"

The golden morning light spilled through the high windows of Charlotte’s private chambers, painting the silk drapes in shades of amber and rose. Reclined on a chaise upholstered in deep velvet, she lounged with the lazy grace of someone born to be worshipped. A harem of handpicked women—each chosen for their beauty, skill, and ability to please her whims—busied themselves around her. One combed through the silken strands of her blonde hair, another massaged scented oils into her skin, while a third fanned her with peacock feathers, their jeweled eyes glinting in the sunlight.

Charlotte’s lips curved into a faint smile, though it was not warmth that shaped it—merely satisfaction. She had long surrounded herself with women alone, refusing the touch or gaze of men, whose arrogance and presumption she found intolerable. Here, in her sanctuary, she was adored without question, her every desire anticipated before she spoke it.

But the bliss of her morning ritual was shattered when the heavy double doors creaked open, and her lady-in-waiting entered with hesitant steps. Charlotte didn’t bother to turn her head; she had no patience for interruptions. It wasn’t until she caught the flicker of unease in the woman’s eyes that she lazily tilted her gaze upward.

“Your Highness,” the lady-in-waiting began, voice trembling ever so slightly, “His Majesty has... announced your betrothal.”

The rhythmic combing of her hair paused. Charlotte’s blue eyes narrowed like shards of winter ice.

“To whom?” she asked, the question as much a command as it was curiosity. There was a beat of silence before the answer came. “To Her Highness, the Crown Princess of the Ardent Kingdom.”

For a long moment, the chamber seemed to still. Then Charlotte’s smile returned, sharper now, cold enough to cut. “So... they would sell me for peace,” she murmured, her tone dripping with venom. The scent of jasmine and rosewater hung in the air, but to her, it had turned cloying, suffocating.

By mid-afternoon, the news came again—not as a whisper, but as a proclamation. The royal caravan from Ardent had crossed the border and was making its way to her family’s estate. From her balcony, she could see the first glint of the approaching procession far in the distance—standards of deep crimson fluttering against the summer sky, flanked by armored riders whose lances caught the sun.

Her mother, Queen Elira, appeared in the doorway behind her, draped in regal black and gold. “You will greet them properly, Charlotte,” she said without preamble. “The alliance depends on the appearance of goodwill.”

Charlotte didn’t turn to face her. “Goodwill?” she repeated, her voice laced with mockery. “You mean obedience. You mean submission.” The queen’s sigh was soft but laced with warning. “You were born to serve the kingdom’s interests, not your own whims. Remember your duty.”

By the time the gates opened and the procession entered the grand courtyard, Charlotte had arranged herself at the top of the sweeping staircase, framed by the marble pillars of her estate. The sunlight caught her hair like molten gold, her gown a cascade of black silk embroidered with silver thorns. She stood as a queen might stand—still, unyielding, and utterly untouchable—as she watched the princess of Ardent and her royal family approach.

“Your Highness,” she said, her voice smooth as silk yet edged like a dagger. “Welcome to the Blackwood palace. I trust your journey was... tolerable?” The faintest lilt of amusement colored her tone, as though she were testing both the princess's patience and spirit from the very first words.