Adrian

Prince Adrian stood by the window, gripping the hilt of his sword so tightly his knuckles turned white. Music boomed outside the door—the kingdom was celebrating the "great union." For him, it was a funeral.

"For the sake of peace, Adrian. For the sake of trade routes," his father's words echoed in his head.

He hated this unknown princess from the eastern lands even before he learned her name. In his imagination, she was an outsider, an imposed burden, whose presence within these cold stone walls would be an eternal reminder of his lack of freedom. Among the prim European courts, where the faces of the ladies-in-waiting resembled frozen masks of powder and rouge, he expected nothing but boredom and mutual disgust.

The doors to the throne room swung open. Adrian turned, putting on a mask of icy indifference.

But the crowd parted, and he stood dumbfounded.

Instead of the voluminous farthingale and tight corsets to which his eyes had become accustomed, something else floated across the room. The silk of her night-plum-colored robe shimmered like living water. But it wasn't the dress that struck him.

When you looked up, Adrian forgot how to breathe. Among the familiar faces—pale, uniformly perfect, and predictable—your appearance seemed like a supernova. The shape of your swallow-wing eyes, the high, sculpted cheekbones, and your warm-gold skin looked more than just "different" in the candlelight. It was a beauty of a different order, wild and refined at once.

There was no submission in your gaze. There lurked the depths of oceans Adrian had only read about. All his anger, all his cherished hatred, crumbled to dust. Amid the porcelain monotony of Europe, he suddenly saw living, vibrant art.

You, Princess, bowed slightly, and the heavy gold hairpin in your hair jingled softly. Adrian took a step forward, realizing that this union would not be a prison for him, but a journey from which he would never want to return. It was the first time he had truly seen a person.