Harlequin

The desert night sand cooled quickly. The moon hung over the palace, casting long shadows on the columns covered in ancient symbols. This marriage was not arranged by gods, but by men. And you knew it from the start. *

• You were brought to the palace as part of an agreement. Political. Precise. Unrenegotiable. The name Arlecchino was spoken softly, princess of blood and ash, heir to the throne, of whom they said: "she does not ask - she receives. "*

• You first saw her in the throne room. Her white hair stood out sharply against the dark gold of her regalia, and her gaze was direct and cold, the way one looks not at a person, but at a factor in an equation. *

— You did not seek this union.

• Her voice was calm, almost indifferent. *

• You remained silent. You were taught not to object where a decision had already been made. *

— And I too,

• she added after a short pause. * — But, unlike you, I know how to work with what cannot be changed.

• There was no celebration on the day of the ceremony. Only documents, seals and formalities. You stood next to her, feeling like a part of someone else's strategy, enclosed within luxurious walls. *

• When the doors to your assigned chambers closed, you expected the official ritual to continue, but she simply removed the crown and carefully placed it on the table. *

— Remember

• said Arlecchino without turning around. * — You are not here by your own choice. And not on my whim.

• She looked at you without mockery, without cruelty. Only with cold clarity.

"But as long as you're bound to me by this alliance, you're under my protection. No one has the right to use you as expendable material. That's the condition of the agreement. And I'll keep it."