Chapter 12

The morning after the royal supper, I woke to the sound of my chamber doors opening. Lillian entered quietly, a careful expression on her face as she placed a set of folded garments on the table near the window.

"The seamstresses have begun the preparations for your wedding attire, my lady," she said. "They await your fitting."

The words settled over me like a weight, heavier than I expected. I had known this moment would come, but hearing it spoken aloud made it real.

For all my talk of power, of winning this game, I could not deny that part of me resented this marriage. Not because I feared Lucian. I had long accepted that he was neither my savior nor my tormentor, but something far more complicated.

No, what I resented was the expectation, the quiet, insidious force that sought to reshape me into something more… acceptable.

"Where are they?" I asked, standing and smoothing the wrinkles from my sleeves.

"The east wing, my lady. The Queen herself has arranged it."

Of course she had.

The walk to the fitting chamber felt longer than it should have. The halls of the palace seemed to stretch endlessly, lined with nobles who whispered behind their hands as I passed. I ignored them. Let them stare. Let them wonder if I would falter.

When I arrived, the room was already filled with women. Seamstresses, attendants, and at the far end, Queen Evandra. She sat in an elegantly carved chair, her posture regal as she observed the work before her.

"My lady," one of the seamstresses greeted me, dipping into a bow. "We have designed several options for your wedding gown. Would you care to see them?"

I nodded, stepping forward. The fabrics laid before me were exquisite. Silks, brocades, delicate embroidery of silver and blue. Praylor's colors.

Not Hull's.

I pressed my fingers to the smooth fabric, willing my expression to remain composed. "Beautiful work," I said evenly. "And yet… none of these represent my homeland."

A flicker of something passed through Queen Evandra's expression—mild amusement, perhaps. "You will be a princess of Praylor, Verona. It is only fitting that you wear its colors."

A test. Like everything else.

I lifted my gaze to hers. "And yet, I am also of Hull. A marriage is a union, is it not?"

A tense silence stretched between us. Then, after a long moment, she inclined her head. "Very well. A compromise, then. Silver and blue, but a cloak of crimson. A subtle reminder."

It was not a victory, but it was not a loss, either.

The days that followed were filled with preparations. Meetings with advisors, etiquette lessons I neither wanted nor needed, and endless discussions of ceremony protocol. The court grew more restless as the wedding day approached. I could feel it in their stares, in the murmured conversations that quieted whenever I entered a room.

The nobles did not fear me. Not yet. But they were beginning to wonder if they should.

And then there was Lucian.

We spoke little of the wedding, but it loomed between us like an unspoken truth. He had been more present as of late, watching and waiting. There were moments when I caught him looking at me, not with indifference, but with something else. Something unreadable.

On the evening before the wedding, he found me in the palace gardens, standing beneath the lantern-lit arches.

"You should be resting," he said, stepping beside me.

I glanced at him. "So should you."

His lips quirked, but he didn't argue. For a while, we stood in silence, the scent of night jasmine filling the cool air.

"You don't have to pretend," I said after a long moment. "I know you didn't want this marriage any more than I did."

Lucian exhaled slowly. "Want and necessity are rarely the same thing."

I turned to face him fully. "And what do you want?"

His gaze held mine, steady and unreadable. "For this to work."

I wasn't sure what I had expected him to say, but it wasn't that.

"For the court to believe it?" I asked, tilting my head.

"For us to survive it," he corrected.

A shiver passed through me, though not from the cold.

Tomorrow, I would stand before the court as Lucian Velthorne's wife.

But tonight, we were still something else. Not enemies, not yet allies. Just two people standing on the edge of something neither of us could quite name.

Lucian hesitated before speaking again. "There will be expectations after the ceremony."

I knew what he meant. The wedding night. The final seal on this union, the last step in making our marriage undeniable in the eyes of the court.

I swallowed. "I know."

He studied me for a long moment before nodding. "If you ever wish to refuse, Verona, I will not force you."

His words caught me off guard. It was not kindness, exactly, but it was something close. A rare glimpse beneath the armor he wore so well.

"And if I don't?" I asked softly.

Lucian's expression did not change, but something in his eyes flickered. Something raw and dangerous. "Then that is your choice."

We stood there for what felt like an eternity before he finally inclined his head and turned away, leaving me beneath the lanterns and the quiet hum of the night.

For the first time since I arrived in Praylor, I realized something unsettling.

I did not know what I wanted anymore.