Bursting out of the dark tunnel, her lungs burned with each breath, and her vision blurred with tears. She stumbled, her knees scraping against the unforgiving ground, but she didn't stop. When she finally emerged into the open air, her father was waiting, his face a storm of anger and disappointment. Yet, she barely registered it. Not when he shouted. Not when he dragged her back to the palace. Not even when he locked her in her chambers and dismissed her maids. She simply didn't care.
Days turned into weeks as she lay motionless on her bed, staring at the intricate patterns of the palace ceiling. Time blurred. Meals went untouched, and the sounds of life beyond her door faded into a dull hum. The wedding loomed closer, but she remained frozen, consumed by a quiet, defiant despair.
On the morning of the ceremony, the palace buzzed with energy. Servants hurried through the corridors, their voices rising in urgency. Inside her room, she had barricaded the door with a heavy chair. The tailor and maids, growing desperate, pleaded from the other side.
"Princess, please! We must prepare you!"
She sat on the edge of her bed, unyielding. Let them wait, she thought, her lips pressed into a hard line. I will not make this day easy for them—or for anyone.
When the guards finally broke down the door, the splintering wood startled the maids, who hovered anxiously behind them. The princess didn't flinch. She sat with her arms crossed, her eyes blazing with defiance.
The head maid, an older woman with a kind but firm demeanor, stepped forward cautiously. "Your Highness, the kingdom is watching. You must—"
"I must do nothing," she interrupted sharply, her voice raw but steady. "This marriage is their solution, not mine."
The room fell silent, the tension thick as stone. The guards glanced at one another, uncertain how to handle the situation without making it worse.
Then came the sound of heavy boots in the hallway. Her father entered, his imposing figure filling the doorway. His face was a mask of stern authority, but his eyes betrayed a flicker of something else—frustration, perhaps, or regret.
"You will get up," he commanded, his voice low but firm. "You will dress, and you will walk down that aisle. Your rebellion changes nothing. The fate of Sylvaris depends on this alliance."
She rose slowly, her gaze never leaving his. "And what of my fate? What of my life?"
His jaw tightened, but he gave no answer. Instead, he turned to the guards. "Make sure she's ready within the hour. This wedding will proceed."
As he left, she exhaled shakily, her anger giving way to a deep, aching helplessness. The maids moved around her, hesitant and silent, their touches quick and efficient.
When they finally placed her before the mirror, she barely recognized the woman staring back. The gown was perfect, her hair intricately styled, but her reflection revealed a pair of eyes hollowed by betrayal. Yet, as she studied her image, something shifted. Her despair twisted into determination.
If she had to face this day, it wouldn't be as a defeated pawn. No. She would be something else entirely. Something they wouldn't see coming.