Queen Evera observed her husband carefully, her sharp eyes catching the tension in his posture. “What will you do, Alden?”
King Alden exhaled slowly, gripping the edge of his desk. “I will remind Marlowe where her duty lies. And if that is not enough…” He hesitated, then met his wife’s gaze. “I will ensure she marries Lord Frederick without delay.”
Queen Evera's lips pressed into a thin line. “And if she resists?”
Alden’s expression darkened. “Then she will leave me no choice.”
Evera tilted her head, considering her husband’s words. “You truly fear what will happen if she chooses Easton.”
Alden’s jaw clenched. “I do not fear Easton—I fear history repeating itself. If Marlowe aligns herself with him, Everthorns will be drawn into the shadows of his father’s sins. And we cannot afford that.”
Evera studied him for a moment, then rose from her chair. “You are a king, Alden. But you are also a father. Do not let history blind you to the fact that our daughter has a heart of her own.”
King Alden leaned back in his chair, staring at the flickering candlelight as a dangerous thought crept into his mind.
" What if Marlowe did choose Easton? "
He had spent years keeping Everthorns neutral, avoiding the turmoil that surrounded Aldric’s downfall and Easton’s rise to power. But if Marlowe and Easton truly stood together… their bond could forge an alliance stronger than any treaty. It could unite their kingdoms in ways war and bloodshed never could.
His fingers tapped against the wooden desk, weighing the possibilities. An alliance through marriage…
But before he could entertain the thought further, the sound of soft footsteps pulled him from his thoughts. Queen Evera stood in the doorway, her expression unreadable but her sharp eyes glinting with disapproval.
“Do not think it,” she warned, stepping forward. “Do not dare consider it.”
Alden studied her, realizing she had seen the shift in his mind before he had even spoken it aloud.
“You would reject the idea so quickly?” he asked, his voice steady but probing.
Evera’s jaw tightened. “Yes. Because I know what you are thinking. An alliance with Easton could strengthen Everthorns, could cement its place in history. But at what cost, Alden? At the cost of our daughter?”
“She would be queen,” Alden pointed out.
“She would be tied to a kingdom built on the sins of its past,” Evera countered. “A kingdom whose former ruler slaughtered its own people. Do you think Easton has rid himself of that shadow?”
Alden remained silent, considering her words.
Evera stepped closer, her voice quieter but no less firm. “I will not have our daughter tangled in that legacy. She was sent there to uncover the truth, not to be consumed by it.”
Alden exhaled, his mind torn between duty and fatherhood. “And if she chooses him anyway?”
Evera’s expression hardened. “Then we must remind her where she belongs.”
With that, she turned and left him alone with his thoughts.
Alden sighed, his fingers tightening around his cup. Deep down, he knew his wife was right. But he also knew that love had rarely been kind to those who wore crowns.
King Alden leaned back in his chair, staring at the flickering candlelight as a dangerous thought crept into his mind.
What if Marlowe did choose Easton?
He had spent years keeping Everthorns neutral, avoiding the turmoil that surrounded Aldric’s downfall and Easton’s rise to power. But if Marlowe and Easton truly stood together… their bond could forge an alliance stronger than any treaty. It could unite their kingdoms in ways war and bloodshed never could.
His fingers tapped against the wooden desk, weighing the possibilities. An alliance through marriage…
But before he could entertain the thought further, the sound of soft footsteps pulled him from his thoughts. Queen Evera stood in the doorway, her expression unreadable but her sharp eyes glinting with disapproval.
“Do not think it,” she warned, stepping forward. “Do not dare consider it.”
Alden studied her, realizing she had seen the shift in his mind before he had even spoken it aloud.
“You would reject the idea so quickly?” he asked, his voice steady but probing.
Evera’s jaw tightened. “Yes. Because I know what you are thinking. An alliance with Easton could strengthen Everthorns, could cement its place in history. But at what cost, Alden? At the cost of our daughter?”
“She would be queen,” Alden pointed out.
“She would be tied to a kingdom built on the sins of its past,” Evera countered. “A kingdom whose former ruler slaughtered its own people. Do you think Easton has rid himself of that shadow?”
Alden remained silent, considering her words.
Evera stepped closer, her voice quieter but no less firm. “I will not have our daughter tangled in that legacy. She was sent there to uncover the truth, not to be consumed by it.”
Alden exhaled, his mind torn between duty and fatherhood. “And if she chooses him anyway?”
Evera’s expression hardened. “Then we must remind her where she belongs.”
In the quiet aftermath of the day's events, Queen Evera retired to her private chambers. The moonlight streamed through the tall windows, illuminating scrolls and relics of Everthorns' past. Yet, her thoughts were far from the affairs of state—they were filled with memories of Duke Wally, the man she had once loved before fate forced her into an arranged marriage with King Alden.
As she paced slowly along the carved stone floor, her voice dropped into a soft, wistful murmur.
"Duke Wally… his blood, his legacy—it still courses through the veins of our future. If only our daughter could bear an heir that carries even a fragment of that noble lineage."
At that moment, King Alden entered, his steps measured and his expression guarded. He sensed the tumult in Evera's eyes before she even spoke.
"Evera, must you dwell on the past again?" Alden asked quietly, concern lacing his tone.
She stopped pacing and turned to face him, her eyes glistening with a mix of determination and sorrow. "Alden, you know as well as I do that our union was never born of true love. It was arranged—a sacrifice to duty and politics. But our daughter, Marlowe, she has a future yet to be written. I want her future to be more than just a pawn in Everthorns' political game."
Alden's eyes narrowed slightly. "And you believe forcing her into an arranged marriage with Lord Frederick—whose father is Duke Wally—will secure that future?"
Evera stepped closer, her voice barely above a whisper yet carrying the weight of her conviction. "Not merely secure it, Alden. I want our lineage to be revived, to have an heir who carries the spirit of Duke Wally. My heart has ached for his memory all these years, and if Marlowe can bear a child with Lord Frederick, that child would be a living testament to what we once were—and what could have been."
Alden hesitated, conflicted by his duty as king and his role as Marlowe's protector. "But what if Marlowe resists this destiny? What if she chooses another path—one that might align her with Easton instead?"
Evera's expression hardened, and a shadow crossed her face. "Then we risk not only the future of Everthorns but the entire balance of our lineage. I cannot allow our bloodline—my bloodline—to be diluted by sentiments that belong to a lost era. Marlowe must understand that this arranged union is not merely about politics. It is about preserving something sacred, something that ties us to our very essence."
The silence that followed was heavy with unspoken fears and old wounds. In that stillness, Evera's determination resonated as clearly as the soft clink of distant armor.
"I will do what is necessary to guide her down this path, even if it means hard lessons and strict measures," she continued, her voice steady. "For the sake of Everthorns, for the memory of Duke Wally, and for our legacy—I must ensure that Marlowe fulfills her duty."
King Alden sighed deeply, the conflict in his heart evident. "Then we must prepare ourselves for the consequences, Evera. The heart of a princess is not easily tamed, and the future is as unpredictable as the wind."
Queen Evera, eyes still bright with resolve, met his gaze. "I know. But sometimes, the past demands to be remembered, even if it means guiding the future with a firm hand."
In that moment, beneath the watchful moon and the silent witness of history, their shared resolve was set. The arranged marriage was no longer just a political necessity—it had become a means to reclaim what they had lost and to forge an heir who would carry the legacy of both duty and desire.
-
The flickering candlelight cast long shadows along the stone walls of Everthorns Castle. Marlowe had been restless since her talk with her mother earlier that evening. Something about Queen Evera’s words unsettled her—an unspoken weight beneath her insistence that Marlowe fulfill her duty.
She needed answers.
Moving carefully through the halls, Marlowe slipped past the guards who had long since grown used to her silent movements. She knew where her father kept his private records, the ones detailing alliances, trade agreements, and—more importantly—marriage contracts.
Her heart pounded as she reached the heavy oak doors of her father’s study. She pressed her ear against the wood, listening. Silence.
Pushing the door open just enough to slip inside, she moved swiftly to the desk, her fingers tracing over the neatly stacked scrolls. She knew her father—he was meticulous, which meant that anything important would be at the top of the pile.
And then she saw it.
A parchment sealed with the royal crest. Carefully, she broke the wax and unraveled the letter. Her eyes scanned the words quickly, her breath hitching with every line.
“By the will of the Crown, the union between Her Highness, Princess Marlowe of Everthorns, and Lord Frederick of Mage shall be solemnized to ensure the continuity of noble bloodlines and strengthen the alliance between Everthorns and Mage…”
Her hands trembled.
“...such a union will restore the legacy of Duke Wally, ensuring his lineage and noble standing are preserved for generations to come.”
The parchment slipped from her fingers.
Marlowe stumbled backward, her chest tightening as the weight of her mother’s plan crushed her. This was never just about securing alliances—this was about her mother’s past. About a love that never was. About a father she had never known.
"My mother... she is trying to reclaim something through me. Trying to rewrite history with my life."
She pressed a hand to her mouth, suppressing the anger rising in her throat. Did her father know? Or had he simply agreed to this for political gain?
Marlowe clenched her fists. She had spent years forging her own path, living in disguise, proving herself as more than just a princess to be married off like a pawn. She had been a spy, a warrior, a survivor.
And now they expected her to be a bride?
No.
Not like this.
Taking a deep breath, she snatched the parchment from the floor and stormed out of the study. She needed time to think. She needed to act before it was too late.
And deep down, despite everything, one thought echoed louder than the rest.
Marlowe barely had time to hide the parchment before the heavy doors creaked open. She spun around, her heart hammering in her chest.
Standing in the doorway, tall and composed, was Lord Frederick of Mage. His deep blue cloak draped over his shoulders, his sharp green eyes gleaming under the dim candlelight.
“Marlowe,” he said smoothly, stepping inside and closing the door behind him. His voice carried the weight of knowing.
Marlowe forced herself to stay calm. “Lord Frederick,” she replied, her fingers tightening around the parchment hidden behind her back. “What brings you here at this hour?”
Frederick smirked. “The same thing as you, I imagine.” His gaze flickered to the desk, where the broken wax seal still lay. “You’ve discovered the truth, haven’t you?”
Marlowe’s jaw clenched. “And what truth would that be?”
Frederick took a slow step forward. “That you and I are to be wed. That our union was written long before either of us had a say in it.” His voice was calm, but there was something unreadable behind his eyes.
Marlowe felt a surge of defiance. “A contract written by others does not decide my fate.”
Frederick chuckled softly. “Fate?” He tilted his head, studying her. “You speak of fate, yet you don’t realize that our destinies have always been entwined.”
Marlowe glared at him. “I don’t believe in destinies written in ink by those who have never lived my life.”
Frederick sighed, his amusement fading. “Then you are more naive than I thought.”
Marlowe took a step forward, her voice dropping to a whisper. “And you are more of a fool if you think I will accept this without a fight.”
Frederick regarded her for a long moment before his smirk returned. “I expected nothing less from you.” He leaned in slightly, his voice lower now. “But tell me, Marlowe… does your resistance stem from your hatred of arranged marriages—or is it because of him?”
Marlowe stiffened.
Frederick’s smile grew. “Ah. So it is about King Easton.” He let out a slow breath, shaking his head. “You think he will save you from this? That he will claim you as his own? He’s a king, Marlowe. He will do what benefits his kingdom, just as I will do what benefits mine.”
Marlowe swallowed the lump in her throat, holding his gaze. “You think you know me, Frederick. But you don’t.”
Frederick took another step closer, his voice almost gentle. “Then prove me wrong.”
Marlowe’s grip tightened on the parchment. She had to get out of here. She had to think. She had to—
Footsteps echoed in the hall outside.
Frederick’s eyes flickered to the door, and then back to Marlowe. He leaned in just enough for her to hear his final words.
“You have until the next moon to decide, Princess.” His breath was warm against her ear. “After that… the choice will be made for you.”
Then, just as quickly as he had come, he turned on his heel and left.
Marlowe stood there, fists clenched, her heart pounding.
She had to act before it was too late.
- Marlowe’s Next Move -
For three days, Marlowe had been restless. Ever since King Easton left Everthorns, the palace had felt heavier, suffocating. She had spent her time locked in thought, debating her next move.
She could not allow this marriage to happen.
Lord Frederick’s words haunted her—“You have until the next moon to decide.” But there was nothing to decide. She would never marry him, never let herself be a pawn in her mother’s plan.
She needed a way out.
And the only person she could think of was Easton.
But he was gone. He had left Everthorns, back to his own kingdom, unaware of the storm she was now trapped in.
Marlowe paced in her chambers, thinking. Would Easton help me? Would he be willing to defy a political marriage? To stand against the traditions that bound royal heirs?
Her chest tightened. Easton was a king. He had responsibilities, duties. And yet—
She placed a hand over her heart, remembering the way he had held her in the garden, the way he had looked at her as if she were more than just a princess—as if she were truly seen.
A decision settled in her mind.
She would go to him.
It was dangerous, reckless even, but Marlowe had never been one to sit back and wait for fate to decide her future.
She went to her wardrobe and pulled out a set of dark travel clothes. If she were to leave unnoticed, she would need to disguise herself once again. The same way she had when she infiltrated Easton’s court as Lord Soren Vale.
Pulling her hair back tightly, she dressed quickly. She secured a dagger at her waist, along with a pouch of coins and a rolled parchment.
Then, she took one last glance at her chamber—at the life she had known, the expectations that had been forced upon her.
She inhaled deeply.
Then, under the cover of darkness, Princess Marlowe slipped away from Everthorns.
Her destination?
King Easton.
- 
Marlowe moved swiftly through the castle corridors, her heart pounding as she navigated the secret passages she had memorized as a child. The guards patrolled the halls, but she knew their patterns well. She had planned this escape for days.
Just as she reached the final corridor leading to the outer walls, a voice stopped her in her tracks.
"Going somewhere, little fox?"
Marlowe spun around, her breath catching. Lord Frederick stood at the archway, arms crossed, a knowing smirk on his face.
Her fingers twitched towards the dagger at her hip, but she forced herself to remain calm.
"Step aside, Frederick."
He chuckled, shaking his head. "Running to your little king, are you? How foolish. Do you truly think Easton will save you? He’s a ruler, Marlowe. He won’t throw away his kingdom for you."
Marlowe clenched her jaw. He doesn't understand Easton like I do.
Frederick stepped closer, lowering his voice. "You are bound to me, whether you like it or not. Your mother will see to that. And if you leave—" He leaned in, his breath warm against her ear. "There will be consequences."
Marlowe didn't flinch. Instead, she met his gaze and whispered, "Then let there be consequences."
Before he could react, she slammed her knee into his stomach and bolted past him, racing towards the stables.
Frederick groaned, doubling over, but his shout echoed through the halls—"GUARDS! STOP HER!"
Marlowe didn't stop.
She threw herself onto a horse, kicking it hard as the palace gates came into view. The guards rushed forward, but she was faster—she always had been.
With a final glance back at the only home she had ever known, Marlowe rode into the night.
Her destination was clear.
King Easton.
And this time, she wasn't coming to spy.
She was coming to be saved—or to fight for her own fate.
Just as Marlowe reached the castle gates, a commanding voice echoed through the night.
“Stand down.”
The guards hesitated, lowering their weapons. Marlowe pulled her horse to a stop, her breath heavy. She turned and saw him—King Alden—standing tall under the torchlight, his expression unreadable.
Behind him, Lord Frederick straightened, his face twisted with rage and humiliation.
“Father—” Marlowe started, but Alden raised a hand.
“Come down from that horse, Marlowe,” he said, his voice firm yet calm.
She hesitated. Would he force her to stay? Would he hand her over to her mother and Frederick?
But then, she saw something in his eyes—something soft, conflicted.
Slowly, she dismounted, her hand still on her dagger.
Alden took a step forward. “You were always meant to be free,” he said quietly. “I will not cage you.”
Marlowe’s breath caught. Was he… letting her go?
Lord Frederick stepped forward angrily. “Your Majesty! We had an agreement! She is to be my wife—”
Alden silenced him with a single look. “You are not king, Frederick. I am.”
Then, the king turned back to his daughter. “If you leave now, Marlowe… there is no return.”
She swallowed hard, her heart pounding.
But she had already made her choice.
Looking into her father’s eyes one last time, she whispered, “Goodbye, Father.”
Then, without another word, she mounted her horse and rode away.
To Easton. To her future. To whatever awaited her beyond the borders of Everthorns.
The Journey to Easton
Marlowe rode through the night, her cloak billowing behind her as she urged her horse faster. The wind stung her face, but she didn’t stop. She couldn’t.
Her father had let her go—but that did not mean she was safe.
By dawn, she reached the border of Everthorns. Once she crossed it, there was no turning back.
She pulled the reins, letting her horse slow as she looked behind her one last time. The towering trees of her homeland stood silently in the distance. Would she ever return?
No. Not as the same woman.
Taking a deep breath, she kicked her horse forward and crossed the border.
---
Meanwhile, in King Easton’s Court
King Easton sat in his throne, his mind troub