I woke up to silence.
No birds chirping, no maids bustling around, no warm smell of breakfast drifting through the hallways like back home. Only the sharp tick of a clock on the wall and the distant footsteps of guards outside my bedroom door reminded me that this was real.
The palace.
My wedding.
My tyrant of a husband.
I sat up slowly, the silk sheets rustling around me. My body was sore, not from any touch—he hadn't so much as looked at me since the wedding—but from tension. Every muscle ached from how tightly I'd curled into myself during the night.
I wasn't Amara.
And he knew.
Still, he married me.
The memory of his whisper returned like a knife to the gut: *"Don't ever lie to me again."*
I slid my feet to the floor. The tiles were ice-cold. Just like this place. Just like him.
The room was massive—larger than my family's entire living room—with tall windows draped in heavy velvet curtains, a chandelier overhead, and furniture too elegant for someone like me. But it didn't feel like mine. None of it did.
I barely had time to think before the door opened with a soft click.
A woman in a black and white maid's uniform stepped in, bowing slightly. She looked older than me but younger than most of the palace staff I'd seen yesterday. Her name tag read "Elira."
"Good morning, Your Highness," she said politely, though her eyes flickered with curiosity.
I flinched. Your Highness. The words felt like a slap.
"I'm here to help you dress and escort you to breakfast with His Majesty."
My stomach turned. Breakfast? With him?
"Do I have to?"
She blinked, unsure how to respond. "It was His Majesty's order, my lady. He asked to see you as soon as you're awake."
Of course he did.
I nodded weakly. "Fine."
Elira helped me out of the nightgown and into a deep blue dress with intricate silver embroidery. The corset was tight, again, but I didn't protest. I needed the armor.
My hair was styled into a soft bun. I barely recognized the girl staring back at me in the mirror. She looked like a queen—but I didn't feel like one.
I felt like a fraud.
Elira led me through the palace corridors. Gold and crystal gleamed from every corner, and guards stood at attention with emotionless faces. I kept my head down, but I could feel their eyes on me.
Finally, we stopped before a grand double door.
"Wait here," Elira whispered, then pushed it open.
Inside was a long table—too long for two people—with breakfast laid out like a royal feast. At the head of the table sat the Crown Prince.
My husband.
He wore a black high-collared shirt, his posture perfect, his expression unreadable. He didn't glance up when I entered.
"You're late," he said coldly.
I bit back the apology rising in my throat. I hadn't done anything wrong.
He gestured to the chair on his right. I walked toward it, heels clicking softly, and sat with stiff grace. I could feel his gaze now—sharp, assessing.
"You look different without the veil."
I swallowed. "I suppose I do."
A long silence followed. He didn't speak again for several minutes, choosing instead to sip black coffee and read something on a tablet beside him.
I barely touched the food.
"You've barely eaten."
"I'm not hungry."
"Then you'll sit here until you are."
I stared at him, stunned. "Is this a prison?"
He finally met my gaze. "No. But you're not free, either. You're my wife."
"And you didn't even choose me," I snapped before I could stop myself.
The tension in the room thickened instantly.
His eyes darkened. "Don't mistake silence for kindness. I didn't stop that wedding because I don't like my plans being interrupted. And now that you're here, Zara, you'll fulfill the role—whether you were chosen or not."
I clenched my fists. "I'm not a puppet."
"Then learn to play your part, or I'll make it even harder for you."
My stomach twisted. Was this really my life now?
"I never wanted this."
"Neither did I."
Another pause.
"But I never walk away from what's mine."
That one sentence chilled me to the bone. Because it didn't sound like love. It sounded like possession.
He stood.
"You'll be given a schedule starting today. You'll attend royal etiquette training, learn how to behave in front of nobility, and sit beside me during council dinners. You're no longer a girl hiding in your sister's shadow."
He walked toward the door, then stopped.
"Oh, and Zara—"
I looked up.
"There will be no more talk of annulment. If you try to run, I will find you. And this time, I won't be gentle."
With that, he left.
I was alone again. Sitting at a royal table. In a golden cage.
I stared at the untouched food, my appetite gone completely.
Hours passed in a blur.
Ladies-in-waiting visited with endless lectures about posture, grace, and the "rules" of being a queen.
"Don't cross your ankles like that."
"Smile politely, not too wide."
"Your Highness, you mustn't speak unless spoken to in public."
I nodded. I nodded to everything. But inside, I was screaming.
This life wasn't mine.
But it had become mine. Overnight.
When night fell, I returned to my bedroom, exhausted, overwhelmed, and on the verge of tears.
A letter waited for me on the pillow.
No name. Just a golden seal.
With trembling fingers, I broke it open.
> "Zara,
> You will dine with me tomorrow evening in my chambers.
> —L."
L.
Lorenzo.
His name was rarely spoken aloud, but I'd heard it enough during the whispers of servants and news reports. Prince Lorenzo. The Tyrant Prince.
Tomorrow, I'd face him again. Alone.
And I had no idea what he wanted from me.
That night, I didn't sleep.
I stared at the ceiling and imagined a hundred ways I could escape.
But no matter how many fantasies I dreamed up, one truth remained—
I was his wife now.
His prisoner.
His Queen.
And I was trapped inside the crown.