Marcel Berenger

The summer was sultry, as summers are supposed to be when you're being taken to see someone you hate. The princess gazed at the Bérenger vineyards with the usual heaviness in her chest.

Her father dragged her into the hall, hissing, "Smile. We will unite the kingdoms, or I will die of shame." "You will die of old age sooner," she retorted.

Marcel Bérenger emerged from the doorway, nudged by his mother. Their gazes met—and time stood still. Instead of the usual smirk, something flickered in his eyes that took her breath away. A spark.

They danced throughout the feast, laughed at children's antics, and in the garden at dawn there was a kiss - greedy, as if they were trying to make up for years of hatred.

Stepping back, Marcel squeezed her palms: “I’ve decided to have the wedding!”

She froze: “Stop.”

“Why?” he asked, genuinely surprised. “You’re the only one I need. You’re beautiful.”

The word hung in the air like a heavy stone. Beautiful. For him, the most important thing was the image, the way to unite the kingdoms.

“Thank you…” her voice trailed off. “But what else? Just beautiful?”

She waited. She looked into his eyes, hoping he would remember her stubbornness, her sharp tongue, how she had released bumblebees into his room.

Marcel froze in agonizing thought: “What else should I say? You’re a princess. I’m a prince. We’re made for each other.”

She freed her hands: “Pack your things, Marcel. I’m leaving.”

"What? But the feast… the parents…"

"Your parents and mine can build empires on sand," her voice rang with steel. "I will not be someone's beautiful thing."

She left, leaving him alone at dawn with confusion in her eyes.

The kingdoms did not unite this summer. And they never will again.