Bronwyn of Elrandal stood right in front of the mirror, gazing upon herself in distaste. Never could she have imagined getting married to a man she'd never met, more especially, the prince of the Narvan empire.

She'd heard his name on most maiden's lips, heard of their desire to become his betrothed. So many fantasies and yet, no one knew what he'd looked like. Narva had protected the Blackstone offsprings, shielding them completely from the outside world.

Yes, she'd fancied certain princes from across the lands, whilst having shared a few bed, but never had she once thought or dreamt of not marrying for love. This marriage could only be beneficial to her family and her kingdom and she was merely a tool to attain power.

Tonight was indeed her betrothal ceremony and yet, she was filled with so much displeasure. Bronwyn tried to pull at the elegant taffeta dress that seemed to hold her in a death grip.

"My lady, you'll rip the dress at this rate if you keep pulling," her nanny said matter-of-factly

"It's too tight, I think I'm going to burst. Can't I get another?"

"Princess, you'll have to get use to it. The queen chose this dress herself." The mahogany doors to her room swung open and the queen strutted in, donned in a black royal regalia.

The old weather beaten maid gave her best bow, at the sight of the queen. "My queen,"

"Mother," Bronwyn said, curtsing.

"How is it going? They're almost here."

"We're almost done your highness,"

The queen casted a gaze of scrutiny on the princess. Satisfied, she spoke. "In that case, leave us."

The nanny curtsied, hurrying out of the room in an instant.

"Oh, Bronwyn, you look marvelous in that dress. Lucien and all the Blackstone court will be awestruck and smitten by your beauty." She reached for her, gently pulling some loose strands of the obsidian locks behind her ear.

Bronwyn laughed hysterically at the queen's remarks, knowing all too well she'd been nothing but a card her mother had always wanted to use. The woman had been so eager to marry her off she couldn't even wait till she was twenty, as the Ravencroft custom had demanded.

"Mother, this is absurd! I do not even want to be a part of the Blackstone household, neither do I want to marry prince Lucien! I don't want to get married to a total stranger!"

"You're raising your voice my dear." Her mother chafed. Her calm demeanor still intact.

Knowing she was starting to upset the queen, she apologized, "forgive me your highness, but if the prince was all they said he was, he would have been known by the entire kingdoms. Why go miles to hide his face from the world? He may even be without some body parts, for what it's worth."

But her mother's laughter resounded in the room, her expression contorting into a frown, "I will never let you marry a man that's incomplete. I am your mother, after all. I've seen the prince and I can tell you, he's everything and more you could ever imagine a prince to be."

Still not convinced, Bronwyn proceeded to speak, "but mother-"

"-no buts!" The queen snapped angrily. "You're getting engaged to prince Lucien today and that is final!"

Bronwyn had never really imagined what it was like to be married to a man who could be the Blackstone heir for all she cared, but the reality of her losing her happy ever after to a game of power came crashing down on her, her eyes watered, running down her face.

"Then, mother, tell me, how do you live with a man you've never loved or seen?"

Her mother lifted her face, her soft warm fingers palming her cheeks, "the same way I got married to your father. Do not cry my dear, you needn't marry for love. Love is fickle, all that matters is wealth, royalty and power. Once Lucien gets the throne, you'll become an empress, his empress. Just imagine so much more you can do with such powers. The world would envy you. Worship you."

The queen sighed, her brows wrinkling, "you know, most would kill to have what you've gotten on a platter of gold. You should be thankful. I am trying to make you, my very own daughter a god amidst women."

"I am grateful mother."

"We've talked about all of these for months, I've walked you through it step by step. You're going to be the next empress of Narva, so act like it. Show me you're the offspring of Carlisle and Freya Ravencroft. Make me proud,"

Without a doubt, the queen was cunning. She'd tried to make the princess follow her footsteps, tried to forge her into her very own image. But Bronwyn had been a hopeless romantic, daring to dream outside her mother's little box she'd been forced into. Dared to show emotions; an opposite of what her mother had always taught- emotions was weakness.

But Bronwyn couldn't show she was weak, she could deal with everything, except her mother's wrath.

Queen Freya's face that had once held a morbid expression softened a little, then her lips curled back to reveal sets of magnificent white teeth as she smiled.

"Be glad the Blackstones even considered you, many women of higher status were declined the privilege. You're going to liberate us, Bronwyn. You should be celebrating, not sulking."

The princess shuddered in submission. "What do I do? I'm not as strong willed as you." She confessed, "And father, do you love him? Now?"

Her mother flash her another flawlessly beautiful smile, "I learned to love him, eventually. That was before his train of concubines, but that's by the way. You just have to smile, look pretty and let me take care of the rest."

Bronwyn spent the next thirty minutes getting fixed and dolled up for the occasion. She'd been determined to make her mother proud, determined to be cunning and deceptive - if need be, to secure the prince's favor.

Yes, they were getting betrothed to each other today, but per Narvan customs, a prince's bride is subjected to change until the binding ceremony is performed. She was determined to keep him all to herself.