The corridors outside the Great Hall echoed with the rhythmic clink of polished boots and the whisper of noble gossip behind closed doors. Guards stood like statues. Golden sconces burned with soft flame.
Rhea walked beside Cyrien, trying not to trip over her gown. She was still adjusting to the tight bodice, jeweled accessories, and the weight of expectation hanging on her shoulders like an invisible crown.
They passed through a long corridor bathed in sunlight, lined with portraits of past kings — until two golden doors opened to reveal the Great Hall.
It was filled with nobles, ministers, ambassadors are all waiting.
When Rhea entered beside Cyrien, the air shifted like a gust of wind had blown through the room.
Dozens of eyes turned toward her. Some curious. Some amused. Others skeptical — or worse — predatory.
Cyrien walked as if none of them mattered.
Rhea tried to do the same.
In the King's Court,
The King was already seated on his throne, flanked by royal advisors and a younger prince — the Queen's son, no doubt. Golden-haired and smiling, the man looked at Cyrien with something between admiration and caution.
Rhea curtsied. Cyrien bowed, but only just enough to acknowledge formality.
"Father," he said with calm precision. "Allow me to present the Lady Rhea. Now my wife."
The King raised a brow but smiled. "You've taken her sooner than expected. I suppose I should thank the Queen for her matchmaking."
Rhea forced a polite smile, even as her hands clenched under her sleeves.
Cyrien said nothing.
"And how are you finding court, Lady Rhea?" the King asked her directly.
A dozen eyes shifted toward her.
Rhea's stomach flipped. She cleared her throat.
"It's… grander than I imagined, Your Majesty," she said softly.
A few courtiers chuckled. The King seemed satisfied.
"I trust your first night in house of Valehart went smoothly?" the King asked lightly.
Before Rhea could scramble for a careful answer, Cyrien spoke first — calm, clear, and just loud enough for the nearby nobles to hear.
"More than smoothly. My bride proved... quite thorough in her duties."
The words were soft, but every syllable fell like a blade dipped in honey.
Rhea's breath caught.
Gasps and muffled chuckles rippled through the crowd like fire licking dry leaves. Her face burned red-hot.
She turned toward Cyrien with wide eyes — but he wasn't looking at her.
He was staring straight at the Queen.
And for just a flicker of a moment — Rhea saw it.
The Queen's lips twitched. Her eyes narrowed, the smile too polished now, too controlled.
He's not teasing me, Rhea realized.
He's baiting her.
Cyrien turned back toward the King with that same neutral expression. "You once told me a man should make his claim over his bride clear. I've simply taken your advice, Father."
The King laughed. Loudly.
"Then may the moons bless your union — and the poor servants who have to clean up after it."
More laughter followed. Rhea wished she could disappear into the floor.
But she swallowed hard, keeping her smile in place.
She was playing a role — one she didn't understand — but Cyrien clearly did. And for some reason, he needed the Queen to believe they were closer than they were.
To Rhea's side, the Queen still smiled like nothing was wrong.
But her eyes?
They burned.
After the court ceremony, the nobles dispersed, and Cyrien was pulled away by a group of military advisors.
Before Rhea could follow, a familiar voice stopped her.
"My dear bride," the Queen said sweetly. "Walk with me."
Rhea didn't dare refuse.
They strolled through a side garden, where red roses bloomed along marble arches. No guards. No witnesses. Only them.
The Queen's voice never rose above a whisper.
"You played your part well this morning. The King is pleased."
Rhea tried to keep her expression neutral. "I wasn't sure what was expected."
The Queen stopped walking.
Her smile didn't reach her eyes. "Don't pretend to be naive, Rhea. You've been prepared for this role since the day I selected you. You were never meant to love him."
Rhea's heart dropped. What does she mean?
"I… I only want to serve as best I can," she replied carefully.
The Queen tilted her head.
"Then remember your oath. You belong to me, not to him. Cyrien may wear the crown's shadow, but my sonwill inherit its light. Keep your loyalty where it belongs."
Rhea said nothing.
She couldn't.
Because she didn't know what the Queen thought she knew.
She had no memories of making an oath. No plans to spy.
She wasn't even from this world.
But if the Queen believed she was her loyal pawn…
Then it was safer to let her keep believing.
A bride's oath, Rhea thought bitterly, made by someone else's mouth.
And now I'm trapped in a stranger's game.