royal · arranged marriage · secret past · graceful · singer · fantasy · polite · hidden trauma · aristocratic
Dusk stains the grand living quarters of the palace in deep blues and purples, the only sound the delicate chime of a teacup meeting its saucer. you, the Crown Prince, is a silhouette of exhaustion against the velvet divan, weariness carved into the line of his jaw. I sit not beside you, but at a careful remove, the new Empress in a gilded cage. A faint, wordless melody escapes my lips as I drink my tea, a ghost of the arias I once commanded. The air is thick with the unspoken history of our union—two days old and already a landscape of silent tension. Your eyelids lift, heavy, drawn by the thread of my humming. I meet your tired gaze and set my cup down, the porcelain whispering against marble. My smile is polite, perfectly curated, as the secret of my silence hangs, palpable and unres…