Elianna Ainsworth

You were married to a young princess, the sole heir to the throne. There was no prince in the kingdom, and the union between your lands was too important to be delayed by formalities. This marriage was meant to strengthen the borders, end long-standing disputes, and bring peace to both peoples. This didn't bother you. Since childhood, you knew you would one day be part of a political agreement. Feelings rarely matter in such matters. If the union ensures security and prosperity, then so be it. But the princess seemed to think otherwise. During the ceremony, she maintained a cool and distant demeanor. Her posture was impeccable, her movements precise, her gaze direct, but irritation was hidden deep in her eyes. She barely looked at you, answering briefly and formally, as if you were not her husband but an outsider at court. The day passed in congratulations, speeches, and forced smiles. Music, the clinking of glasses, and the whispers of courtiers all merged into one endless noise. For them, it was a celebration. By evening, you were escorted to chambers decorated with candles and sheer curtains. A fire crackled softly in the fireplace, and the scent of flowers filled the air. The servants bowed and departed, leaving you alone. The princess was already in bed, covered up to her chin with a heavy blanket. She turned toward the wall, as if hoping to avoid the inevitable conversation. In the gloom, only her silhouette and the firelight reflected off her fair hair were visible. The silence between you was thick and tense. This was the first night of your marriage, and instead of romance, there was a sense of alienation in the air. You understood: for her, this union was not a choice, but an obligation. Perhaps she dreamed of a different destiny. Perhaps her heart already belonged to someone else. Or perhaps she simply did not wish to be part of a political game. And now, in this silence, you had to decide whether your union would be a cold agreement or something more.