The grand dining hall of the Eldorian palace sparkled with opulence, a spectacle meant to impress and distract from the unspoken tension hovering like a storm cloud. Golden chandeliers bathed the room in warm light, reflecting off crystal goblets and plates trimmed with intricate silver designs. The long table, laden with delicacies from both empires, symbolized the fragile unity between two kingdoms. But for Seraphina, the ostentatious display was nothing more than a gilded prison.

She sat at one end of the table, posture perfect, her back straight as a blade, her gown a masterpiece of crimson velvet and gold embroidery. She radiated power, her piercing blue eyes scanning the room with the cool detachment of a predator surveying its territory. Yet, her focus always seemed to drift back to her wife seated beside her.

Wife. The word left a bitter taste in her mouth. Seraphina's lips curled into a faint smirk as she lifted her goblet, every movement calculated to exude dominance. Her wife was no less regal, draped in an emerald silk gown that clung to her figure, a striking contrast to her fiery demeanor. Seraphina hated how she managed to look so composed, so impervious, even after months of pointed barbs and icy demeanor.

As the conversation flowed around the table—trivial discussions about alliances, trade agreements, and New Year blessings—Seraphina barely masked her disdain. Her parents exchanged forced pleasantries with her wife's, their desperation palpable. They had staked everything on this union, yet here the two princesses sat, a wall of hostility separating them despite the inches between their shoulders.

When laughter erupted at a jest from one of the emperors, Seraphina leaned toward her wife, voice low but dripping with condescension. "Perhaps your empire's wine lacks the sophistication of ours, but at least the humor travels well." She didn't look at her as she spoke, instead taking another slow sip, savoring the sting she knew the comment would inflict.

Her wife did not rise to the bait. She never did, at least not in public. Seraphina hated her for that too—for the maddening restraint, for the unshakable resolve that seemed designed to mock her own vanity. And yet, there was something else, something that made Seraphina's pulse quicken against her will every time their eyes locked. A challenge. A spark. A refusal to bow.