They traded me for peace.
No dowry. No love. Just my body in a crimson dress, offered like a sacrificial lamb to end a war my people didn't start.
The echoes of battle still clung to the borders of Zareth and Elarion, but the ink on the treaty had already dried. A fragile truce, born not of trust, but of desperation. And I—Princess Lilian of Zareth—was the signature at the bottom.
I was born into golden halls and soft silks, into lullabies and love songs sung in my name. But today, I stood in the heart of my enemies' capital, a gift wrapped in royal blood. A bride exchanged for silence on the battlefield.
My father, King Roland, smiled like a ruler at peace. But I saw the tremble behind his eyes—the sorrow of a father giving away his only child. Even kings could not fully mask heartbreak.
The wedding was opulent. Petals rained from the balconies like spring, choirs sang ancient hymns, and nobles raised jeweled goblets in celebration. But beneath the spectacle, a bitter truth pulsed like a bruise.
I stood at the center of it all, robed in crimson threaded with gold, my back straight, my chin high. The fabric cut into my skin with every breath. I didn't flinch. My face remained serene, but my fingers clenched behind the folds of my gown.
This wasn't a celebration. It was a surrender.
Prince Henry of Elarion looked exactly as the rumors had promised—cold, distant, carved from winter stone. He took my hand with mechanical precision, kissed my knuckles with hollow duty, and recited his vows like a soldier delivering orders.
The people cheered. But they were cheering for an illusion.
There was no love here—only diplomacy dressed in gold and silk.
Queen Beatrice sat high on her throne, regal and unmoved. Her gaze, sharp as her crown, never softened. She studied me with something colder than suspicion. Contempt. To her, I wasn't a bride. I was the price of peace, a reminder of Elarion's forced compromise.
I felt the weight of every glance, every unspoken word, every forced smile. The castle shimmered with polished pride, but beneath it all, the air stank of politics and power.
Still, I did not break. I would not.
> "Smile," a court lady whispered from behind me before I stepped into the great hall.
"Why?" I asked.
"Because they expect you to."
I smiled. Not because they wanted it—because I wanted them to see I wasn't afraid.
Later, after the final toast and the cheers faded behind closed doors, I walked the palace halls like a ghost in borrowed silk. I passed portraits of ancestors who had conquered, ruled, destroyed. Their eyes followed me like omens.
And yet, in all that cold stone and gold, I did not feel small.
Outside, the city buzzed with celebration. But up here, everything was too quiet.
I stepped onto a balcony and let the wind bite into my skin. The stars above Elarion were unfamiliar. Distant. The crown on my head pressed heavy against my brow—not a symbol of honor, but a shackle of duty.
> "They may have traded me like property," I whispered into the night,
"but I am still royalty. And royalty does not crumble."
Far below, in the shadowed courtyard, something shifted.
Eyes watched me—still, silent, unseen by the guards. They didn't belong to a servant or a noble. No, these eyes lingered... like they were searching for something in me. Or waiting.
I turned and went inside, unaware that my arrival had stirred things that should have remained asleep.
But that story would wait.
For now, the war was over.
And my battle had just begun.