The carriage wheels made an irritating, rhythmic sound against the ancient stone-paved royal road.
Inside, the silence was much worse.
Princess Elara of Valmont sat perfectly straight, gloved hands folded on her lap, chin raised in the exact angle that every etiquette teacher had beaten into her since she was six years old.
She hadn't spoken once since they crossed the border.
Not to her ladies-in-waiting. Not to the captain of her royal guard. Not even when they passed the enormous marble monument that marked the exact place where, thirty-seven years ago, the greatest defeat in Valmont history had been suffered at the hands of the very kingdom she was now being sent to marry into.
She simply stared out the window.
At the banners.
At the black and crimson colors that were getting thicker and thicker the closer they got to the capital of Arcturus.
At the soldiers who stood at every intersection — wearing the same colors as the boy she was supposed to marry.
Her future husband.
Crown Prince Cassian.
The same Cassian who, according to very quiet and very terrified whispers that still traveled between both kingdoms…
…had methodically removed every single person who stood between him and the throne.
Every. Single. One.
Even his blood.
Even his little sister, who was only eleven.
Elara closed her eyes for a moment.
She wasn't scared.
She was… disgusted.
Disgusted at the situation. Disgusted at the politics. Disgusted at her father who had looked her in the eyes two weeks ago and said with the gentlest voice:
"It is the only way to end this war forever, my daughter."
She wanted to laugh.
The only way?
The only way was to tie her life to a monster who probably viewed human relationships the same way a butcher viewed livestock?
She felt the carriage slowing down.
Then stopping.
Then the sound of many boots moving at once. The honor guard forming lines.
Then the door opened.
Cold winter air rushed in immediately.
And then he appeared.
Black cloak lined with crimson fur. Hair blacker than the night itself. And those eyes.
Gods those eyes.
Pale, poisonous green. Like something that grew at the bottom of a poisoned lake.
Cassian stared at her.
Not courteously.
Not out of curiosity.
Not even haughtily.
He looked at her the way a very bored collector looks at a new, expensive piece that has just arrived.
Then he spoke. Voice low. Smooth. Almost gentle.
"Princess Elara."
A title. Not a greeting.
She answered the same way.
"Crown Prince Cassian."
Neither of them moved to offer a hand.
Neither bowed.
The silence stretched so long that even the soldiers started to get nervous.
Finally Cassian tilted his head slightly, like a bird of prey deciding whether the mouse in front of it was worth the effort.
"You're more beautiful than the paintings."
Elara felt her stomach turn.
Not because of the compliment.
Because of how he said it.
Like he was reading a product description on a merchant's list.
She answered without any warmth at all.
"And you're exactly as terrifying as the rumors."
A very, very small smile touched the corner of his mouth.
I am very pleased.
He was actually pleased that she said it.
"Most people don't dare say that to my face."
"I'm not most people," she answered immediately. "And I'm not here by choice."
The smile widened just a fraction.
"I know."
And somehow that made it worse.
He knew. He knew she hated this. He knew she hated him. And he still looked… satisfied.
Cassian offered his hand.
Black leather glove. Very elegant.
She stared at it like it was a venomous snake.
Then — very slowly — she placed only the very tips of her fingers on his palm.
Not holding. Not trusting.
Just the bare minimum required by protocol.
He noticed.
Of course he noticed.
But he didn't comment.
He simply led her out of the carriage.
The moment both her feet touched Arcturus soil, thousands of soldiers raised their swords in perfect unison.
A deafening roar of metal and loyalty.
"Long live Crown Prince Cassian! Long live Princess Elara! Long live the union!"
Elara felt like throwing up.
Cassian, on the other hand, looked perfectly calm.
He leaned down just slightly, only for her ears.
"Does the sound of my people cheering for you make you feel sick?"
She didn't answer.
He continued anyway, voice almost tender.
"It's okay. You'll get used to it."
Then he straightened and led her forward.
Through the sea of black and crimson.
Through the flower petals being thrown.
Through the music, the bells, the cheers.
And the entire time his grip on her fingers stayed light.
Like he was holding something fragile that he didn't particularly care about breaking… but also didn't want to break just yet.
When they finally reached the enormous marble stairs of the Imperial Palace, he stopped.
Turned to face her completely.
And for the first time since she met him, something shifted in those cold green eyes.
It was not warmth.
Neither it was love.
But curiosity.
He had a Genuine, sharp, almost child-like curiosity.
He asked, very quietly:
"Do you hate me already, Princess?"
Elara lifted her chin.
Met his gaze straight on.
And answered with the most honest thing she had said since crossing the border.
"Yes."
A heartbeat.
Then another.
Then Cassian smiled.
A real one this time.
Small. Sharp. Dangerous.
And terrifyingly beautiful.
"Good," he whispered.
"I would have been disappointed if you didn't."
Then he turned and started walking up the stairs.
Leaving her standing there.
Heart hammering.
Stomach in knots.
Skin crawling.
And one single, horrifying thought ringing inside her head louder than all the bells and cheers combined.
'Is love really for me… when the only man I'm ever allowed to love is someone like this?'
She looked up at his back.
At the crimson cloak moving like blood on black stone.
At the crown that shouldn't belong to him.
At the throne he killed for.
And she understood one thing very clearly in that moment.
This marriage wasn't going to be a political union.
This was going to be a very, very long war.
And she was already losing.