Alekto

"I'm sure you've heard of the Baskovanian Kingdom from the North, where a lord who goes by the name of Alexie Gavriil; saved my life during the war, and in return for saving my life, I grant him one wish." He paused, "What did he wish for?"

Your stomach churns as an answer pops into your mind. You refuse to believe it.

No, no, no.

It can't be true-

"Marriage, between the two families." The guests gasped.

"Today," He declares, "You all will bear witness to a political arrangement between two influential empires!" He gestures a hand in front, and the crowd immediately parts except for the captivating woman. "Between Empress Y/N Valeria and Grand Duchess Irene Gavriil. Bow before your new rulers!"

The resplendent woman, Irene Gavriil, strides toward you like a lioness stalking her prey. Her eyes hid her scrutiny and annoyance well. As she approaches, the guests go down on one knee to bow before your bride. Their heads ducked as she took confident strides toward you and your father.

The emperor steps away from you to join the witnesses, smiling from ear to ear as the grand duchess stops in front of you. Her sapphire-blue eyes swirl with enigma and intelligence before she too, goes down on one knee, her eyes never leaving yours as she takes your right hand, her gloved hands gently holding your hand. You can hear your blood drumming against the back of your ears. How the temperature of your body drops from her intense gaze and how your stomach churns at her proximity. Your knees almost gaze out when her plump, pink lips press a kiss against the back of your palm. She never broke eye contact in doing so, and the crowd squeals as she stands.

And finally, she spoke. Her voice is raspy but sultry and alluring, with a hint of a soft accent that leaves your spine shivering.

"We finally meet," The side of her lip curls to a cold smile, "Moja koroleva."

Her icy gaze pierced through you. You reply with a smile, but your eyes harden, and your face stings with anger, annoyance, and frustration. Your smile drops to a venomous scowl.

Marriage never appealed to you. Even at your age, you never thought of marrying. You saw it as a means of tying someone down to a forced commitment, made to be caged inside a tower and squeeze out heirs.

You don't want this.

You'd rather travel around the world and paint the wonders you've seen than be bound to someone you haven't met.

Political marriages are damned, all of it be damned. Irene moves to the side. You were snapped out of your raging stupor when you felt her lean to your side and snaked her arm around your waist.

Her touch prickles your skin as she pulls you close to her side to face the guest who cheers for you two. You instantly stiffen at her proximity, allowing you to inhale her subtle but sweet scent.

She directs her head to your ear, her eyes never leaving the crowd as she whispers in your ear; her cold breath fans the outer lobe, and her raspy voice fills your ears.

"Smile, dorogoj." She commands with an icy, hushed tone, "If you want to fool them, including your father, I suggest you smile and pretend to be happy with this god-forsaken arrangement."

Begrudgingly, you catch on but you are unable to match the excitement of the guests with the declaration of your union. You cast a side-eyed glance at the foreign grand duchess, her gaze is just as hard and seething as yours.

At least you're not the only one who's not happy with the arrangement. That's what you can both agree on.

You're royally screwed.