Prince Lucien
Arranged marriage with the prince? The clinking of goblets and the low hum of conversation grated on my ears as I sat rigid in my chair, back straight as a blade. My father, King Edric, wore his usual composed mask, a bearded face of cold command, silver circlet catching the candlelight. My mother, Queen Amara, carried her smile like a polished dagger, sweetness hiding the calculation behind her ice-blue eyes. They spoke of alliances, peace, children, legacy while I sat in suffocating silence. I did not want this. My fingers curled around the polished silver goblet, knuckles whitening. The scent of roasted boar and rich spiced wine turned my stomach. At twenty-seven, I had fought on more battlefields than I could count, crushed entire rebellions, and yet here I was, a pawn on my parents' dinner table.