Eva's steps were heavy as she made her way through the palace halls. Each footfall seemed to echo off the marble walls, a reminder of the weight that had suddenly settled on her shoulders. The decree was final: she, Lady Evalina Du Montecourt, was to marry Prince Alaric, the very man she had slapped in front of the court.
Marry him?
The thought made her stomach churn. Eva had just arrived in this foreign world, and already, her life had taken a sharp, twisted turn. She was supposed to be adjusting to this body, learning the customs, figuring out how to survive—but instead, she was being thrust into a political marriage with a man who barely tolerated her existence. The irony was suffocating.
"Lady Evalina?" The voice of her maid, Faye, broke through her thoughts. "His Highness is expecting you in the royal gardens."
Eva blinked, surprised to find herself standing in front of a set of grand doors. She had been so lost in her thoughts that she hadn't noticed the long walk. Her gaze flickered toward Faye, who looked anxious but also oddly sympathetic.
"Right," Eva muttered, trying to summon the energy for what was next. A conversation with the prince. The prince who now had an even greater reason to loathe her.
She pushed the doors open, the sound of her breath almost too loud in the silent, well-manicured garden. The prince stood with his back to her, hands clasped behind him, gazing out at the delicate flowers that lined the stone paths.
Alaric.
Even in his moment of stillness, he exuded an aura of power and disdain. He didn't turn when she approached, and for a moment, she wondered if he was aware of her at all. But then, as if sensing her presence, his voice cut through the air like a whip.
"You're late," he said, still not looking at her.
Eva winced, her pulse quickening at the familiar ice in his tone. "I was... preparing for the inevitable," she replied, unsure whether she was speaking to him or herself.
"Preparing for what?" His voice was sharp now, tinged with frustration.
Eva took a breath, forcing herself to look him in the eye. "The marriage. I assume that's why I'm here." Her voice was surprisingly steady, even as her stomach twisted itself into knots.
Finally, Alaric turned, his sharp gaze locking onto hers. For a moment, Eva couldn't breathe. His eyes were as cold as steel, his jaw clenched, and there was something else in his expression—something unreadable.
"You're not happy about it," he observed, his tone betraying no emotion. "I can tell."
Eva let out a breath she hadn't realized she was holding. "Happy? No, not exactly. But what choice do I have?"
He didn't answer right away. Instead, he stepped closer, his movements deliberate. "A political marriage is not something one just… accepts. Not if you have a shred of dignity left."
Eva flinched at the weight of his words. "Do I look like someone with dignity?"
Alaric's lips twisted into something that might've been a smirk. "Touché."
She bit back a retort. The truth was, she didn't know how to feel. There was so much happening, so much to process. She had been yanked from her life, thrown into this strange new world with a body that wasn't hers, and now she was to be married off to a prince she barely knew. A prince who had every reason to despise her.
"I didn't ask for this," Eva said quietly, her voice raw. "I didn't ask for any of it. And yet here I am, standing in front of you, as if this were normal."
Alaric's gaze softened, just a fraction. "Nothing about this kingdom is normal. Certainly not you."
She looked up sharply, meeting his eyes with defiance. "You don't know me."
"I don't," he agreed. "And I'm not sure I want to."
Her heart sank. His words weren't cruel, but they were indifferent. It was the cold, detached tone of a man who was already emotionally removed from the situation. It was how people spoke when they no longer cared enough to hate you, but simply tolerated your presence.
Eva swallowed hard. She couldn't let herself fall into this passive role. The old Eva would've resisted with everything she had. But this new body, this new life—this wasn't her life, not really. At least, it didn't feel like it. She wasn't sure how much of herself she had left.
"You don't want to marry me," she said, her voice barely above a whisper.
Alaric took a step closer, his expression unreadable. "I don't want to marry anyone. But duty calls."
His words hit her harder than she expected. Duty. It wasn't the burning hatred she'd been expecting to see in his eyes. It wasn't even disgust. It was simple resignation. And in that moment, she realized something. He was just as trapped as she was.
"Duty," Eva echoed, a bitter laugh bubbling up in her chest. "How romantic."
His lips twitched, as if trying to suppress an amused smile. "It's not meant to be romantic. It's meant to be pragmatic."
"I don't know how to do this," Eva admitted, her voice a little steadier. "I don't know how to play this game."
"You'll learn," Alaric said, his tone softer, though still distant. "You'll have to. The kingdom is watching, Lady Evalina. You'll be queen soon enough. The least you can do is survive long enough to play your part."
"Survive," Eva repeated. "Is that all we can do in this life?"
A silence fell between them, thick and heavy. Alaric's gaze never wavered, but something flickered in his eyes—something like understanding, or maybe just the recognition of shared circumstance.