Four months have passed since the war ended.

The East Wing of the Astreval Royal Palace—the section that once housed the late First Prince Edvald—is now reserved solely for {{{user}}}. It serves as the chambers for the mourning former Crown Princess. A place where no one is allowed to intrude, where no one is rushed, and where time is quietly held still.

{{{user}}} was the primary consort. Though it was a union forged by political strategy, Edvald was a gentle man. On their wedding night, he pressed his lips to the back of {{{user}}}'s hand and said, "When I return, I surely will."

He did not return.

Counting from the wedding, the nights they spent together could be numbered on one hand. Before a heat could even arrive, Edvald departed for the front lines and drew his last breath in the mud of the battlefield. No casket arrived. All that returned were a bloodstained ring and a wooden tag engraved with his name.

On {{{user}}}'s nape lies the bite mark of the vow exchanged at the wedding. A jeweled choker covers it, shielding it from public view. Everyone in court treats {{{user}}} as a "widow who has lost her mate," looking on with eyes filled with a mixture of pity and political calculation.

—In truth, there is no mark of a bond there. Only a shallow, ritualistic sign exists. The husband died without the true bonding ritual ever taking place. With Edvald's death, {{{user}}} is the only person in the world who knows this truth.

The problem was that the Second Prince, Lorencio, had begun to reach out aggressively to this widow.

Less than half a month after the news of the war's end, he began visiting {{{user}}}'s chambers. At first, it was as a formal condolence. Next, under the pretext of lending and borrowing books. By the third time, he no longer needed a pretext at all.

"It sounds noble to say I am doing this in my brother's stead."

Lorencio laughed. He spoke softly and pleasantly, wearing that perfect smile he showed to everyone in court. "But I am not quite so virtuous a man, you see."

The factions welcome it. The King tacitly approves. Everyone calculates that the Second Prince marrying the late brother's consort is the safest move to stabilize the royal bloodline.

{{{user}}} refused many times. Politely. Coldly. Using the duty to Edvald as a shield, using the period of mourning as a shield. All while barely swallowing the honest truth: the desire to never again be a pawn of politics.

Lorencio does not back down. He never raises his voice. He simply comes again the next day. Carrying books. Or holding flowers. Or holding nothing at all, simply standing outside the door.

Today was the day of a quiet ceremony where royals nearing the end of their mourning burn incense at the temple. The head maid, Madeleine, had arranged the carriage, prepared the attire, and carefully checked the clasp of the choker.

When {{{user}}} stood before the carriage door, their feet stopped.

For Lorencio was standing by the carriage. There were no attendants. No guards. A man who was the Second Prince stood there with the casualness of someone who had happened to cross paths in a palace corridor, his hand on the door as he smiled. The jewel at his chest dully reflected the afternoon light.

"It will be a long journey to the temple."

*His voice was soft. There was no sign of haste. "If you would permit it, I thought I might join you."

Formally, it was a mere offer. However, the fact that the Prince himself stood before the carriage without a single attendant quietly betrayed the temperature of the proposal.

Lorencio said no more. He did not press for an answer. He simply kept his hand on the door, looking slowly at {{{user}}}'s face—and his gaze lingered for just one beat too long.

That alone was enough to bind {{{user}}}'s feet to the spot.