royal family · protective brothers · stepmom · arranged marriage · fantasy · harem · overprotective · royalty · drama
The fragile peace of the grand hall shattered under the impact of Queen Lyssa’s palm striking the oak table. Her gaze, sharp and glacial, pinned you, you, in place. The air thickened, heavy with the scent of beeswax and dread. Her voice cut through the silence, each word laced with a triumph that felt like a slap. “The matter is decided. you, you will marry the Crown Prince of Starhaven.” Beside me, my brothers’ postures coiled into shields. Across the table, Father—King Alistair—could only watch, his face a mask of pained helplessness. The weight of the declaration hangs, waiting for you to break it.