The chambers of the palace were filled with a buzzing excitement, the air thick with the scent of fresh flowers and the hum of chatter. Young Queen Amalia sat before a large gilded mirror, surrounded by a flurry of maids and attendants, each one bustling about to prepare her for the most important day of her life. Her wedding day.

The women fussed over her with gleeful anticipation, their voices rising and falling in a harmonious symphony of joy. They admired her gown, a masterpiece of ivory silk and delicate lace, intricately embroidered with gold thread that caught the light with every movement. They cooed over the jewels that adorned her neck and wrists, and the crown that would soon rest upon her brow, marking her as both a queen and a bride.

"Oh, Your Majesty, you look absolutely radiant!" one of the maids exclaimed as she adjusted the delicate veil cascading from Amalia's beautiful hair. "King Zyran is the luckiest man in the realm."

"Indeed, he is," another chimed in, her hands busy fastening the last of the pearl buttons down the back of the gown. "A match made in heaven, they say. You'll be the most beautiful queen this kingdom has ever seen."

Amalia smiled softly at their words, nodding in agreement as she looked at her reflection. The woman staring back at her was every bit the queen she was expected to be—poised, elegant, and composed. Her eyes, a striking shade of emerald, were framed by thick lashes, and her lips, painted a soft rose, curled into the serene smile she had perfected over years of practice. To anyone looking at her, she was the epitome of grace and regal beauty.

But beneath that carefully crafted exterior, Amalia's heart was in turmoil.

As the maids continued their work, adjusting her gown and fixing her hair, she felt a familiar ache deep within her chest. It was a pain she had grown accustomed to, one that had taken root the day her marriage to King Zyran had been arranged. It was her duty, and she had accepted it without question.

Yet, as she sat there, surrounded by the trappings of her royal destiny, her thoughts drifted to someone else. Someone who had captured her heart long before she had ever been promised to another.

She had loved him in secret for years, nurturing a flame that she knew could never burn openly. He was not a king but he had shown her a world beyond the confines of her royal duties—a world where she could simply be Amalia, not a queen, not a bride, just herself. In his presence, she had found a kind of peace and happiness that her crown could never provide.

But now, on the eve of her wedding, that love felt like a distant dream, something she could only cherish in the privacy of her own heart. She had made her choice, or rather, the choice had been made for her. She was to marry King Zyran, and her future was set. There was no room for anything else.

"Your Majesty, are you all right?" one of the maids asked, her voice laced with concern as she noticed the faraway look in Amalia's eyes.

Amalia blinked, snapping back to the present. Her smile didn't falter as she nodded. "Yes, I'm fine. Just a little overwhelmed, I suppose."

The maid returned her smile, reassured. "It's natural to feel that way, Your Majesty. It's a big day, after all."

"Indeed it is," Amalia agreed, forcing her thoughts back to the task at hand. "Let's continue, shall we?"

The maids resumed their preparations, their excitement palpable. But as they worked, the weight of the crown felt heavier than ever, and the prospect of her future, though secure, felt unbearably cold.

Yet, she knew what was expected of her. She would play her part, as she always had.

But as she stood there she closed her eyes and recalled the night before.

The castle was eerily silent as Amalia moved through its shadowed corridors, the echoes of her hurried footsteps the only sound in the stillness of the night. The grand stone walls seemed to close in around her, the weight of her impending marriage pressing down on her chest with every step. Tomorrow, she would become Queen in name and title, bound to King Zyran in a union that was more about politics and power than love. But tonight, there was still time—time to follow her heart, to chase the one thing she had denied herself for so long.

Her breath quickened as she approached the corridor leading to Dorian's chambers. For years, she had harboured feelings for him, feelings she had tried to bury beneath layers of duty and responsibility. But now, on the eve of her wedding, she couldn't bear the thought of never telling him. This might be her last chance to confess what had been festering inside her heart for so long.

As she reached the door to his chambers, she hesitated, her hand hovering just above the handle. What if he didn't feel the same? What if she was too late? But the thought of never knowing was far worse than any rejection. Steeling herself, Amalia pushed open the door and slipped inside.

The room was dimly lit, a soft glow coming from a few scattered candles. The scent of something sweet hung in the air, but it wasn't the warm, comforting smell she associated with Dorian. There was something else—a sound, faint and muffled, coming from the far side of the room. Amalia's heart pounded in her chest as she slowly made her way toward it, her breath catching in her throat.

As she rounded the corner, the scene before her made her stop dead in her tracks.

Dorian was there, just as she had hoped, but he wasn't alone. A young woman, one of the castle's maids, was wrapped in his arms, her head thrown back in a fit of giggles as he whispered something in her ear. They were tangled together on the edge of his bed, his hands roaming freely over her body as he kissed her neck, his movements slow and deliberate. The maid sighed contentedly, oblivious to anything else, completely caught up in the moment.

Amalia's heart shattered. She stood frozen, watching the man she had longed for, the man she had risked everything to see tonight, lose himself in someone else's arms. The image of them together seared itself into her mind, a cruel reminder of how foolish she had been to believe that he might have waited for her, that he might share the same feelings she had carried for so many years.

She felt a sob rise in her throat, but she swallowed it down, forcing herself to remain silent. Tears welled up in her eyes, but she refused to let them fall. Dorian was lost in his lover's embrace, his attention solely on the woman before him, his soft words and tender touches meant for her and no one else. The sight was more than Amalia could bear.

Before she could give herself away, she turned and fled, her heart pounding in her chest, the sound of her own footsteps echoing in her ears as she raced down the corridor. She didn't stop, didn't look back, even as the tears finally broke free and streamed down her cheeks. Her vision blurred, but she didn't care. She just needed to get away, to put as much distance between herself and the man she had foolishly believed she could trust with her heart.

Her thoughts were a chaotic whirlwind as she ran. How could she have been so blind? How could she have convinced herself that Dorian might feel the same?

Amalia didn't stop running until she reached the sanctuary of her own chambers, the heavy door slamming shut behind her. She collapsed against it, her breath coming in ragged gasps as she struggled to contain the torrent of emotions threatening to consume her. The tears came harder now, uncontrollable sobs wracking her body as she finally allowed herself to feel the full weight of her heartbreak.

Tomorrow, she would marry King Zyran, and her life would change forever. But tonight, she had lost something precious, something she hadn't even realized she could lose.

The grand hall was a breath-taking sight, adorned with the finest decorations the kingdom could offer. Golden banners hung from the high ceilings, and the scent of fresh roses filled the air, mingling with the soft glow of candlelight that bathed the room in a warm, ethereal glow. The hall was packed with nobles, dignitaries, and common folk alike, all gathered to witness the union of their beloved Queen Amalia and King Zyran.

As the grand doors swung open, a hush fell over the crowd, and all eyes turned to the bride. Amalia stood at the entrance, a vision of grace and beauty in her gown of ivory silk, her veil trailing behind her like a cascade of starlight. The moment she stepped forward, the hall erupted into cheers and applause, the sound echoing off the stone walls as the people celebrated the union of their sovereigns.

With every step, Amalia felt the weight of the moment settle upon her shoulders. The cheers and the music swirled around her, but they seemed distant, almost muted, as she walked slowly down the aisle toward King Zyran. He stood at the altar, tall and regal, his expression one of pride and anticipation as he waited for his bride.

Each step brought her closer to him, and with each step, Amalia felt herself letting go—letting go of the dreams she had once held dear, the love she had cherished in secret. The closer she came to the altar, the more she accepted the reality of her situation. This was her duty, her destiny. She had been born to be a queen, to serve her kingdom, and this marriage was a part of that.

When she reached the altar, she turned to face King Zyran, their eyes meeting as she stood before him. She could see the admiration in his gaze, the satisfaction of a man who had secured both a powerful alliance and a beautiful bride. The crowd behind her watched with bated breath, every soul in the room caught up in the magic of the moment.

As she stood at the altar beside him, the weight of the moment pressed heavily on her. Her heart raced, and she struggled to steady her breath, the reality of the situation crashing over her like a wave.

King Zyran, sensing her tension, turned to her with a gentle smile. His eyes, kind and understanding, searched her face for any sign of distress. He reached out, his hand warm and steady as it covered hers, giving it a reassuring squeeze. "Amalia," he whispered softly, his voice just loud enough for her to hear over the murmurs of the crowd. "You're doing wonderfully."

She glanced up at him, her eyes wide with a mixture of fear and uncertainty. Zyran's expression was tender, his usual regal demeanour softened by the intimacy of the moment. He leaned in slightly, his presence comforting as he spoke again, his tone soothing and full of warmth. "I know this is overwhelming, but I'm here with you. We're in this together."

Amalia felt a slight tremor in her hand, but Zyran's calmness seemed to seep into her, grounding her in the moment. His words, so simple yet sincere, were like a balm to her frayed nerves. She took a deep breath, trying to match his calmness, and offered him a small, grateful smile.

Zyran's eyes lit up at her response, and he smiled back, his hand still gently holding hers. "That's better," he murmured, his voice laced with encouragement. "I've got you."

Amalia offered him another serene smile, her anxiety not letting her speak, the mask of a dutiful queen firmly in place. She felt a strange sense of peace wash over her, a calm acceptance of the path she had chosen. This was her life now, and she would embrace it fully.

The priest began the ceremony, his voice echoing through the hall as he spoke the sacred words that would bind them together. Amalia listened, repeating the vows as she was prompted, her voice steady and clear. She promised to honour and cherish King Zyran, to be a loyal wife and a just queen, all the while pushing aside the ache in her heart.

Then, just as the priest was asking if anyone had any reason to object to the union, the door at the back of the hall creaked open. Amalia's heart skipped a beat, and she glanced toward the source of the sound, her breath catching in her throat.

It was Dorian.

He slipped quietly into the hall, his presence causing a ripple of murmurs among the guests as they recognized him. He was not dressed as grandly as the other nobles, but there was an undeniable charisma about him that drew attention. He looked around the room, his gaze finally settling on Amalia, and when their eyes met, he smiled—an open, excited grin, as if he were sharing in her joy.

Amalia's breath faltered, and for a brief moment, the mask slipped. She felt the weight of her heartbreak like a stone in her chest, the memories of their time together flooding back with painful clarity. She had loved him with every fibre of her being, and she had dreamed of a different life, one where they could be together openly, without the constraints of duty or obligation.

But that life was not hers to have. She had made her choice, and now she was standing before the man she would marry, with Dorian as a mere spectator to her union.

With a deep breath, Amalia forced herself to smile back at him, a smile that she hoped conveyed happiness. But deep down, she was shattered. This was the man she loved, and he was sitting among the guests, watching as she vowed to spend her life with another.

The priest continued, his words barely registering in her mind as she tried to compose herself. But she kept her smile in place, her resolve hardening with each passing moment.

This was her life now. She had made her choice, and she would honour it.

As the ceremony came to an end, the priest pronounced them husband and wife. The crowd erupted into applause, the sound nearly deafening as King Zyran leaned in to kiss his bride. Amalia closed her eyes, allowing herself to be swept up in the moment.

The crowd erupted in another round of applause and Dorian couldn't resist a low whistle of approval.

When she finally pulled away, her gaze drifted to where Dorian sat, his smile still in place, though now tinged with something she couldn't quite name.

But whatever it was, it was too late.

Amalia turned back to her husband, her hand slipping into his as they faced the cheering crowd together. She was Queen Amalia, wife of King Zyran, and this was her destiny.

As they turned to face the gathered crowd, Zyran remained close to her, his arm slipping around her waist in a protective gesture. The grand hall erupted into cheers and applause. The sound was thunderous, echoing off the high stone walls as the people celebrated the union. The royal couple stood side by side, their regal composure the very image of strength and unity.

Among the jubilant crowd, Dorian's voice rang out above the rest, his cheer louder and more enthusiastic than any other. He stood up from his seat, clapping vigorously, a broad smile lighting up his face as he watched Amalia. His eyes sparkled with genuine happiness, his cheers filled with an energy that seemed to invigorate those around him. He was one of the first to stand, and soon, others followed, turning the applause into a standing ovation.

Dorian's gaze never left Amalia. He watched her intently, his eyes reflecting a mix of emotions—pride, admiration, and a deep, unspoken affection. He cheered for her with all his heart, as if by sheer force of will, he could convey how much he wanted her to be happy, how much he wished her all the joy she deserved.

Amalia, standing beside her new husband, couldn't help but glance toward the crowd. Her eyes found Dorian almost immediately, drawn to the exuberance he displayed. The sight of him standing, cheering so fervently for her, sent a pang through her heart. His smile was wide, his eyes bright, and for a moment, it was as if nothing had changed—as if they were still the young dreamers.

King Zyran, noticing the shift in his bride's expression, followed her gaze and spotted Dorian among the crowd. The king smiled approvingly, seeing the loyalty and excitement in one of his closest friends. He gave Amalia's hand a gentle squeeze, his own heart swelling with pride at the celebration of their union.

Amalia gave Dorian one last lingering look, her smile bittersweet. He remained standing, his eyes never leaving hers, and for a fleeting moment, the world around them seemed to fade away, leaving only the two of them in their shared understanding.