Andrei's steps were deliberate as he made his way through the royal halls, away from the ballroom's dazzling lights and the eager faces of the aristocracy. His mind was a storm, each thought clashing against the next. He needed answers, but they were elusive. No matter how many times he went over his father's words, the weight of expectation grew heavier.
He had seen her again—Yelena. The way she held herself, so unlike anyone else in the room, was impossible to ignore. She had moved through the crowd with an air of quiet defiance, and in her gaze, Andrei had caught a glimpse of something he hadn't felt in years: the raw truth of life beyond titles, beyond the glittering facade of the imperial court.
The prince sighed, his hand resting on the carved wooden door of his study. The weight of the crown on his shoulders felt heavier by the day, yet the face of a woman who had no right to be in his world consumed his thoughts. Yelena. She wasn't just a prostitute, as everyone had dismissed her. She had shown him a world where real emotions—hurt, pain, survival—were at the forefront, not games of power and politics.
His father's voice echoed in his ears, reminding him of his duty. It was frustrating.
But with every passing moment, Andrei questioned the very thing he had been taught all his life. What did the future of the empire mean if it was built on lies, on alliances he had no heart for? What did it matter if he could secure the future of the throne when his own heart was torn?
He sank into the chair behind his desk, his fingers tracing the edge of the map spread out before him. The territories of the empire, the noble families, the fragile political alliances—they all depended on one thing: his marriage. But what if he couldn't bring himself to marry a woman simply because she was a "suitable match"? What if he was destined for something else entirely?
A soft knock at the door interrupted his thoughts.
"Enter."
The door opened slowly, and Ivanov stepped inside, his presence as cold and calculated as ever. The older man's expression was unreadable, but Andrei knew the look all too well. It was the look of someone who had come to remind him of his responsibilities.
"Your Highness," Ivanov said, his voice low and measured. "The preparations for tomorrow's council meeting are complete. The Tsar is expecting you."
Andrei nodded absently, his mind still preoccupied with the face of the woman who had unsettled him. "I'll be there soon."
Ivanov paused, his eyes narrowing slightly. "Is something troubling you, Prince Andrei? I can sense a... distraction in you. You're not yourself."
Andrei resisted the urge to dismiss the comment. He had learned long ago to trust Ivanov's instincts, though he hated the way the older man seemed to always know when something was amiss.
"I'm just thinking," Andrei said carefully, his gaze still fixed on the map.
Ivanov stepped closer, his voice dropping even lower. "Thinking is all well and good, but there is a time for action. You've delayed long enough. The Tsar will not tolerate indecision."
Andrei's jaw clenched. "I know my duty, Ivanov. But it's not as simple as marrying a woman for the sake of an alliance. I won't pretend that my heart belongs to any of them."
Ivanov raised an eyebrow, clearly intrigued. "You speak of heart, yet you know that is a luxury a prince cannot afford. The throne is not built on passion, Andrei. It's built on power, on alliances, on securing your place in history."
"History," Andrei repeated bitterly. "And what about the people? What about me? Do I simply become a pawn in this endless game?"
Ivanov's expression softened, but only slightly. "You are not a pawn. You are the king-in-waiting. Your actions will shape the future of this empire, and you will ensure its strength, its survival. But you must marry, Andrei. You must choose a queen who can secure that future."
"I am not my father," Andrei replied firmly. "I will not be forced into a marriage for the sake of political strategy alone."
For a long moment, Ivanov said nothing, studying Andrei with a piercing gaze. Finally, he spoke, his tone colder than before. "You may not be your father, but the weight of the crown is inevitable. The future will come whether you are ready or not. Don't make the mistake of thinking you have time. Time is not on your side, Prince."
With that, Ivanov turned and left, leaving Andrei alone with his thoughts.
Andrei stood up abruptly, the frustration of his situation boiling over. He didn't want to be a part of the endless political game that had entrapped his family for generations. But it seemed that no matter how much he tried to escape it, it was inescapable. His father's throne would not be handed over to him by choice—it would be a conquest, a battle that would cost him more than he had ever imagined.
As he walked to the window and stared out into the darkened streets of the capital, a question lingered in his mind, one that refused to let him go. Could he truly live with the crown on his head, knowing it would come at the expense of his heart?
He knew what the right decision was. He knew what his duty was. But Yelena's face was burned into his memory, and with every passing day, her presence lingered in his mind, more vivid and undeniable.
Perhaps the crown was not the only thing he was destined to wear.