North POV

The doors of the throne hall groaned open, and the world became a stage.

A hush rippled through the gathered nobility as I stepped inside, the click of my shoes swallowed by the cavernous chamber. Chandeliers blazed overhead, scattering light across polished marble, gilded pillars, and the ocean of silk and jewels assembled in perfect order.

The weight of their eyes descended at once. Admiration. Curiosity. Hunger.

I walked as though through water, each step dragging me deeper into inevitability. Mother glided ahead, serene as a swan. Father’s stride was sharp, triumphant. Hill followed with quiet gravity.

And me—I was bound in ivory robes that felt more like chains than garments, a corset biting into my ribs with every shallow breath.

At the dais, the King and Queen of Avenlor waited, resplendent in crowns and brocade. Beside them stood Johan, Crown Prince of Avenlor, and the man who would soon claim me before gods and court alike.

The herald’s voice rang out, sharp as steel-

“On this day, before gods and crowns, the kingdoms of Avenlor and Lurasia unite. Through the bond of Prince North of Lurasia and Crown Prince Johan of Avenlor, peace and prosperity shall be sealed.”

Applause thundered.

My heart pounded, wild and desperate, against its cage of bone and whalebone.

Attendants advanced with a velvet cushion, bearing two rings: one of gold, heavy and commanding, the other of silver, delicate yet unyielding. Symbols not of love, but of chains.

Johan descended the dais. His every step was measured, inexorable. His gaze locked onto me, dark and unflinching, as though the hall itself bent around his presence.

He halted before me and extended his hand. His voice was quiet, but unshakable.
“Your hand.”

It was not a request.

I obeyed, trembling.

He slid the golden band onto my finger with precise care, the cool metal searing into my skin until it felt like fire. The court murmured with approval.

Then came my turn.

The silver ring was cold in my palm, gleaming in the candlelight. My fingers shook as I lifted it, my breath catching. For a moment, I thought I might drop it—thought I might flee.

But Johan’s hand waited, steady, unyielding.

With shaking resolve, I slid the band onto his finger.

The herald’s voice boomed again-

“Thus, the betrothal is sealed. By ring, by vow, by blood of two crowns.”

The hall erupted into applause. Cheers rose like a tide. My parents’ faces gleamed with pride; the Queen of Avenlor inclined her head in satisfaction.

And then—

Johan lifted my hand once more.

Before gods and kingdoms, before the watching sea of courtiers, he bowed his head and pressed his lips to the back of it.

A kiss. Polite. Ritualistic. Yet his lips lingered an instant too long, heat blooming against my skin, sinking deeper than the gold band itself.

The chamber blurred. The applause, the jewels, the music—all faded into the gravity of that touch. When he raised his eyes, their darkness pinned me in place.

I shivered.

The Queen of Avenlor’s crystalline voice followed, ringing with satisfaction, “Let us proceed to the banquet—to honor unity, peace, and the future that begins this day.”

The court surged forward, spilling into the adjoining hall where feasting awaited.

The banquet was a river of gold and crimson. Roasted pheasant, jeweled fruits, wines as red as blood. Laughter swelled, goblets clinked, and candles cast their light across faces aglow with celebration.

At the high table, my parents beamed as if the gods themselves had blessed them. I sat rigid beside Johan, my corset suffocating, the golden ring burning against my skin.

“Raise your glass,” Father murmured, his smile polished, his eyes sharp.

I obeyed.

The King of Avenlor rose, his voice booming like decree, “To unity. To peace. To the future.”

The toast echoed, goblets lifted high, wine shimmering like rubies in the light. I forced the liquid down, its sweetness heavy, cloying, suffocating.

Then—the Queen’s voice again, smooth as velvet, sharp as glass, “Let the betrothed seal this day not with words, but with dance.”

The hall erupted in eager agreement.

Johan rose. He extended his hand, formal, inevitable. His gaze fixed upon me—dark, steady, unreadable.

I placed my hand in his.

The orchestra began, strings spinning a melody both solemn and triumphant. Nobles cleared the floor, leaving the marble expanse for us alone.

His hand found my waist. My other hand rested upon his shoulder.

And we moved.

His steps were flawless, his lead unyielding. I followed because I had no choice, every turn binding me tighter, every glance from the nobles fastening the cage shut.

He never faltered. His silence was a fortress. His grip, though not cruel, was resolute—unyielding as iron.

I dared a glance upward. His eyes were fixed somewhere just above my own, his face unreadable, his expression carved from shadow and steel.

The dance ended to thunderous applause. Smiles stretched across the faces of kings and queens, lords and ladies.

We bowed. We smiled. We endured.

Later, when the feasting waned and nobles broke into clusters of laughter and intrigue, Johan and I were guided away, swallowed by velvet curtains.

The chamber beyond was smaller, quiet, lit by candles whose flames bent with the weight of silence.

I stood stiff, trembling, my breaths shallow. The ring upon my hand felt heavier than chains.

Johan regarded me, still as stone, the silver band glinting on his own finger.

At last, he stepped closer. He reached for my hand once more.

I flinched, but did not resist.

He lifted it slowly, deliberately, and pressed his lips again to the back of it.

This kiss was quieter, absent the roar of approval. Yet it branded deeper, the heat of it searing into my bones.

When he lifted his gaze, his eyes locked with mine. For a heartbeat—just one—I thought I glimpsed something flicker there. Something I could not name.

And then it was gone.

“You are mine now,” he murmured, his voice steady, deliberate, a command cloaked as truth. “And I am yours. Remember that.”

The chamber pulsed with silence. My chest heaved against the corset. My heart thundered, desperate and defiant.

But the ring upon my hand burned. And his kiss lingered still.