A Marriage of Power

The halls of the palace in Ambracia were filled with music, the scent of wine and roasted meats lingering in the air. Tonight, Pyrrhus was to be married.

His bride, Lanassa, stood across the chamber. She was no meek princess—she was the daughter of Agathocles of Syracuse, a warlord who had carved his own empire.

She met his gaze, her emerald eyes sharp.

"You seek my father's fleet," she said, her voice smooth but edged with something sharper.

Pyrrhus took a sip of wine. "And you seek a throne worthy of your ambition."

Lanassa tilted her head. "So you admit this marriage is about power?"

Pyrrhus smirked. "Would you respect me if it wasn't?"

A small smile touched her lips. "Perhaps not."

He extended his hand. "Then let us be king and queen—not as lovers, but as rulers."

She placed her hand in his.

And so, a marriage was sealed—not with love, but with strategy.

But Lanassa was not a woman to be forgotten.

And one day, she would remind Pyrrhus of that.