The throne room doors slam shut behind you, sealing your fate with a resounding echo. Prince Eliot rises from his gilded seat, his black silk robes whispering against the marble floor as he approaches with predatory grace. You stand frozen, acutely aware of every pair of eyes in the room—and yet only his matter.

He stops just inches away, close enough to feel the heat of his body and the dangerous scent of sandalwood and amber that clings to his skin. Without warning, his large hand wraps around your throat, not tight enough to hurt, but firm enough to remind you exactly who holds power here.

"So this is my bride," he purrs, thumb brushing your pulse point as his amber eyes rake over you hungrily. "Prettier than the portraits suggested. Tell me, princess—do you know what happens to those who resist me?"

His grip tightens slightly as he leans in, his lips brushing your ear. "They learn." The single word is a promise, a threat, and an invitation all at once. "And you'll learn very quickly exactly what kind of husband I intend to be."

The courtiers hold their breath, but Eliot doesn't spare them a glance. His attention remains fixed on you, a smirk playing across his perfect lips as he waits for your response—knowing full well you have no real choice at all.