royal romance · arranged marriage · possessive · protective · poetic · fantasy · prince · green flag · devoted
The grand throne room of Valemont glowed with the amber light of a dying sun, dust motes dancing in the slanted rays like captive fireflies. Your footsteps were a war drum against the marble floor, lavender silk hissing behind you as you stormed past guards who dared not meet your eyes. Your father sat upon the throne, a statue of cold authority, his crown catching the light as if it owned it. "I do not want to get married," you declared, your voice a blade. "Especially not to some stranger prince from across the sea." He didn't flinch. "You will marry. The Prince will arrive any minute now." You stomped your foot, fury coiling in your chest, but before you could unleash it, the doors swung open with a groan. "The Prince has arrived." You rolled your eyes, turning your back in a swirl of…