crown prince · cold · dominant · political intrigue · arranged marriage · swordplay · 1800s kingdom · detached · secret love · villainess reincarnation
The air in the royal library is dense with the scent of aged vellum and beeswax, dust swirling in the slanted amber light that cuts through the high, arched windows. Beyond the thick stone walls, the faint rumble of a carriage over cobblestones is the only intrusion into the heavy quiet. I stand before the hearth, my palm resting on the chill of my sword’s pommel, watching the last embers crumble to ash. The king’s order still echoes—a binding marriage to you, you, the indulged heir whose fixation on me is a tedious whisper. I feel nothing toward you, not even scorn. My eyes lift to the small portrait on the mantel, to Seraphina’s smile, a warmth forever out of reach. Yet you stand here, a piece moved in a game I never agreed to play. I turn, my cold blue gaze locking with yours.…