Challenge accepted!

Lylie wasn't sure what was worse—the fact that she was being forced into a marriage with a king she barely knew, or the fact that everyone in the palace now looked at her like she had somehow bewitched him.

Like she cared anyways.

It had been one day.

One day since Michael had declared his decision, and already, the palace was buzzing. Servants whispered behind her back, noblewomen stared at her with open disdain, and the queen mother... well, the queen mother looked like she was still processing the absurdity of it all.

Honestly? Lylie understood the confusion.

She was confused, too.

Because Michael hadn't spoken to her since.

Not a single word.

Not even a glance.

And that made her... uneasy.

Men like Michael didn't just make decisions lightly. He was a king. He had power. He could have anyone. And yet, he had chosen her.

Why?

She had a feeling she was about to find out.

Because right now, she was being led to the king's chambers.

A servant had come to fetch her, barely giving her time to breathe before ushering her down the long, intimidating halls of the palace.

Lylie tried to look composed, but her mind was racing.

She had no idea what to expect.

Would he change his mind? Tell her it had been a test? Demand she learn some ridiculous courtly manners before he actually went through with this?

Or worse...

Would he tell her he expected something in return?

Her stomach twisted at the thought.

The doors to his chambers loomed before her. The servant knocked once, then stepped aside.

Lylie inhaled sharply. Here goes nothing.

The doors swung open.

Michael stood by the window, his back turned to her, dressed in dark robes. The setting sun cast an eerie glow around him, making him look even more intimidating than usual.

He didn't turn.

"Leave us," he ordered.

The servant bowed and disappeared.

Silence.

Lylie shifted awkwardly. "So... should I bow or something? Or do we skip the formalities since, you know, I'm apparently going to be your wife?"

Michael finally turned.

His gaze was sharp. Unreadable.

Lylie suddenly felt very small.

"If you have nothing to say,I'll gladly leave because I don't do silent treatments, they are for boring people."

Then, to her utter shock, he smirked.

"I see you're still talking."

Lylie blinked. "And I see you're still brooding."

Michael chuckled. Chuckled.

It was low, dark, but somehow amused.

Lylie wasn't sure whether that was a good thing or a very, very bad thing.

Michael took a slow step forward. "Tell me, Lylie... do you know why I chose you?"

She swallowed. "Because you wanted to make your mother mad?"

His smirk deepened. "That was a bonus."

Lylie scowled. "Then what?"

Michael studied her for a long moment, his gaze unwavering.

Then—

"Because you interest me."

Lylie opened her mouth. Then closed it.

Of all the answers she had expected, that was not one of them.

"...I interest you?" she echoed.

Michael took another step, now close enough that she had to tilt her head to meet his gaze. "Do you know how many women have stood in that exact spot, trembling? Silent?"

Lylie held her breath.

"I am a king, Lylie. People fear me. They obey me. They shrink in my presence."

He leaned in slightly, voice lowering.

"But you? You defy me. You challenge me. You speak when you shouldn't." His eyes gleamed. "And I like that."

Lylie's heart was pounding.

Ain't no way he just said that!

She was definitely playing with fire here.

She lifted her chin. "So... what now? Are you going to tame me, Your Majesty?"

Michael chuckled again, dark and knowing.

"Oh, Lylie," he murmured, reaching out to tuck a loose strand of hair behind her ear.

His touch was light, barely there, but it sent shivers down her spine.

"You mistake me," he said softly. "I don't want to tame you."

His fingers brushed her jaw, tilting her chin up just slightly.

"I want to see how long it takes before you break."

Lylie's breath hitched.

Michael smirked. "Are you scared?"

Her pulse roared in her ears.

She should be.

She should be terrified of him.

But instead—

She smirked right back.

"You'll be waiting a very long time, Your Majesty."

Michael's gaze darkened.

And just like that, the game had begun.

*******

Lylie had never been good at staying quiet.

So, naturally, the first thing she did after leaving Michael's chambers was talk.

To herself.

Out loud.

"What does that even mean? 'I want to see how long it takes before you break'—what am I, a horse? A test subject?!" She paced furiously across her new chambers, throwing her hands up. "I knew he was crazy, but this? This is next level! Does he think I'm just going to—what? Sit here and let him mess with me?"

She stopped, pointing aggressively at the empty air.

"Well, newsflash, Your Majesty! I don't break!"

Silence.

Then a soft cough from behind her.

Lylie froze.

Slowly—very slowly—she turned her head.

A servant girl stood by the door, eyes wide, as if she had just witnessed something horrific.

Lylie cleared her throat. Smoothed down her dress.

"Hi."

The girl hesitated. "...Should I come back later?"

Lylie sighed, waving her over. "No, no, I'm just—venting."

The servant, still wary, carefully placed a tray of food on the table. "His Majesty requested that you be served dinner here."

Lylie blinked. "I'm not allowed in the dining hall?"

The girl hesitated again. "His Majesty... said he prefers you eat alone for now."

Lylie scoffed. "Of course, he did. The brooding tyrant doesn't want me ruining his meals with my talking."

The girl paled. "You should be careful saying things like that, my lady."

Lylie sighed, flopping into a chair. "Believe me, if he wanted me dead, he'd have done it already."

The servant said nothing. Just gave her a look—the kind that said you're either the bravest person in this palace or the dumbest.

Lylie had a feeling she was both.

She poked at the food. Roasted meats, fresh bread, spiced vegetables—so much of it. Too much.

Back home, she was used to scraps.

She should be grateful.

Instead, she felt... restless.

Because no matter how grand this life was, she knew one thing for certain.

She wasn't here because she was special. She wasn't here because Michael wanted her.

She was here because she amused him.

Like a pet.

Like a plaything.

Lylie's jaw clenched.

If Michael thought she was going to just sit back and entertain him, he had another thing coming.

This wasn't a game.

And if it was—

Then she was going to win.

********

Michael exhaled, leaning back in his chair as he stared at the reports before him.

Trade agreements. Military affairs. Political disputes.

He should be focused.

And yet...

His thoughts kept drifting.

To her.

The girl who had dared to look him in the eye without fear.

The girl who talked back to him as if he was just some man and not the king.

The girl who had smirked in his face and told him he'd be waiting a long time before she broke.

Michael's lips curled into a smirk of his own.

We'll see about that, Lylie.

He reached for his wine, taking a slow sip, before turning to his attendant.

"Send word to my mother," he ordered. "The wedding preparations will begin at once."

The attendant bowed. "Of course, Your Majesty."

Michael's smirk deepened.

Lylie might think this was just a game.

But by the time he was done with her...

She would realize that in his world, there was only one winner.