A child bride

adows that mimicked the turmoil in his gut. Across from him, Lady Elmont sat perched on the edge of a velvet chaise, her normally composed features etched with worry. Their son, Prin

ing to power. They care nothing for the girl, nothing for you. All they see is a means to an end." "My love," Lady Elmont chided, her voice taking on a warning edge. "Such talk is dangerous." "Dangerous or not, it's the truth!" Lord Elmont retorted, his frustration mounting. "We are condemning our son to a loveless marriage, sacrificing his happiness for the sake of some archaic tradition." Lucian's jaw tightened. He hated this feeling of helplessness, of being a pawn in a game he didn't want to play. He longed to defy his parents, to tell them he would choose his own bride, but the consequences of such defiance were too dire to contemplate. "Lucian," Lady Elmont said again, her voice softer now, pleading. "Understand, this is not just about the throne. It's about the future of our kingdom, the stability of our people. Anya is a good girl, from a good family. She will make you a fine wife." "A fine wife," Lucian echoed bitterly. "And a broodmare." The word hung heavy in the air, silencing his parents. He saw the hurt flicker in his mother's eyes, the resignation in his father's. He knew they loved him, that they were only doing what they believed was best, but that didn't make this any easier. "I will do my duty," he said finally, his voice devoid of emotion. "But I will not pretend to be happy about it." With that, he turned and strode out of the room, leaving his parents to their hushed whispers and their heavy burdens. He needed air, needed to escape the suffocating atmosphere of the palace. He headed towards the sprawling gardens, seeking solace amongst the fragrant blooms and the whispering trees. As he walked, his thoughts drifted to Anya. He tried to picture her, to imagine what she was like. Was she terrified? Resigned? Or perhaps even.