Castle Bedford rose before me, massive and imposing, its light-gray stone gleaming in the sun. Bedford’s red, yellow and white banners, hung from the ramparts on either side of the tall wooden gates, fluttering slightly in the breeze. The carriage rocked over the gravel road as we passed through the gates, where Bedford knights in polished armor stood like sentinels. Unease slithered through me at their watchful eyes.

“Is it too late to throw myself from the carriage, Alice?” I whispered.

“Quite, my lady,” she said apologetically.

We stopped along the winding curve of the drive in front of the castle’s main entrance where additional guards and attendants waited for me. 

“You look every bit the princess, Monroe. Breathe. You’ll do fine,” Alice said. 

I had only a moment to compose myself into the princess they expected before my carriage door was opened and a gloved hand was extended to me.

I took the attendant’s hand and let him help me from the carriage. As I emerged, my eyes swept over the line of attendants and Bedford Knights. They stood rigid, their years of mastered discipline and authority evident. A flicker of disappointment tightened in my chest—none of them were him. 

A tall man in navy velvet robes and polished boots stepped forward, bowing low. “Princess Monroe, welcome to Bedford,” he greeted, extending his hand to me, and I let him guide me along the courtyard. Courtiers watched silently, their eyes measuring every step. 

He led me into the castle, past banners and long narrow hallways, my heels clicking loudly on the polished stone floors, until we reached a quiet corridor. There, he gestured toward a small private chamber. “Your chambers, Your Highness. A moment to compose yourself before the formal audience,” he said, bowing again before stepping back. 

The quiet of my private chambers pressed against me, the silence ringing loud in my ears. I exhaled, long and slow, letting the tension in my shoulders dissolve with every breath. 

A moment. That is all I need. A moment to remember myself as Monroe before stepping fully into my role.

I thought of what this arrangement meant, not just for me but for my kingdom. They relied on me to see this through…not that the choice was ever truly mine.

A soft knock rapped at the door. “Come in,” I said, straightening my shoulders. 

“It’s just me, Your Highness,” Alice said, poking her head through the door. “It’s time. Are you ready?”

I smoothed a hand over my dress, the silken fabric soft against my fingertips. “Yes,” I said, jutting my chin up. I took one final, steadying breath and left the calm quiet of the chamber, feeling like I had left a piece of myself behind that closed door. 

Moments later, I was escorted through the towering doors into the Great Hall where the quiet hum of guests stopped abruptly and dozens of watchful eyes turned toward me at once. 

Castle Bedford’s Great Hall was exquisite. Candlelight, warm and bright, filled the hall, and elaborately made tapestries and eloquent paintings hung on the high walls. Nobles and ladies of the court filled the grand expanse, their fine clothing and jewelry denoting their status and wealth. Senior Knights and guards were stationed around the edges. Musicians, with untouched instruments sat quietly in their corner.

As I was led to the raised dais where Prince Alexander and his court were seated, I let the years of practice and training ingrained in me take over. I moved automatically. My steps were slow, measured. My chin was lifted just enough to convey confidence without arrogance. My back was straight, my shoulders squared, my body composed, but not rigid. My gaze remained fixed just below the dais, respectful and subdued.

How a woman should be–my father’s voice again.

The walk felt eternal. I could feel the weight of the stares from each guest on me—observing, judging—with each deliberate step I took. Their evaluating stares were a reminder that I had no real power here. Suddenly, I felt as if I were being delivered to the prince, presented to him as if were nothing more than cattle, to be inspected and deemed worthy.

The thought was almost enough to make me stumble. 

My escort stopped in front of the raised dais. “Your Majesty, may I present to you, Her Royal Highness Princess Monroe of Celermare,” he said, his voice booming through the Great Hall.

When the escort stepped to the left, I got my first full look at Prince Alexander. He appeared only a few years older than I was. He was quite handsome—wheat-colored hair, striking blue eyes and soft, welcoming smile. Dressed in a dark navy, tailored suit, he carried himself with easy authority. 

“Your Majesty,” I said, curtsying. 

Prince Alexander bowed. “Your highness, it is an honor to meet you. Welcome to Bedford.”

After my introduction was made, Prince Alexander descended the three steps and came to stand beside me, offering his arm. I smiled politely, as I’ve been trained to, and took his arm. 

The evening unfolded exactly as duty demanded. Polite conversation flowed easily, but it was without substance—questions about my journey, my home, my health—each delivered with practiced smiles. Compliments were offered, pleasantries exchanged, and expectations silently measured. It was all perfectly proper. Perfectly dull. And yet, I responded as I had been taught. Every word was chosen with care, every expression carefully crafted.

As Prince Alexander spoke, his tone warm and attentive, my gaze cautiously drifted across the great hall. I scanned the gathered knights and guards along the edges of the room, searching for a familiar figure in immaculately polished silver armor. But he was nowhere to be found. Each time my eyes returned to Alexander, a faint and unwelcome disappointment settled deeper in my gut. He smiled down at me, and guilt swiftly replaced disappointment. Prince Alexander was to be my future husband. Whatever curiosity had taken root within me had no place here. 

We took a final turn about the room. I nodded appropriately, smiled when necessary and only spoke when spoken to. My attention firmly remained with Alexander, where it belonged. 

Until I saw him.

A Bedford Knight, broad-shouldered and unmistakable. He stood at the far edge of the room, half-shadowed near the stone wall as if he had been conjured there from nothing. His attention was fixed on the hall itself, his posture alert and controlled.

He did not look at me. My breath caught anyway.

“Ah,” Prince Alexander said, following my line of sight. “Sir Aiden.” He turned back to me, his expression pleasant and composed. “He is one of my most trusted knights and closest friends. I’ve assigned him to serve as your personal escort while you remain at Bedford.”

As if Alexander’s words had carried across the hall, Aiden’s gaze finally found us. Me. My chest tightened. The world tilted. 

Oh. Crap.

Chapter Three