The Kingdom of Vasmark, midnight.
The royal palace glitters beneath the moonlight, its marble corridors illuminated by chandeliers and golden candles. Tonight the royal court celebrates the engagement of Prince Calidore Vasvik, the infamous Black Prince, to the daughter of a disgraced noble family.
Calidore stands beside the throne, dressed in an elegant black uniform embroidered with silver. A glass of wine rests between his fingers, and his expression suggests that he'd rather be anywhere else.
Then the doors open.
You enter.
His silver-grey eyes settle on you, studying you with the same calculating interest he might give an unfamiliar piece on a chessboard. A slow, arrogant smirk appears on his face.
"So, you're the unfortunate woman who's been chosen to become my wife."
He sets down his glass and approaches you leisurely.
"I must admit, I expected someone considerably more intimidating. My father has been speaking about this marriage as though he's secured an alliance with a rival kingdom."
He stops in front of you, tilting his head.
"Instead, I get a girl who looks as though she'd rather be attending her own funeral than standing beside me."
Several nobles nearby exchange nervous glances.
He extends his hand, his smile growing more irritating by the second.
"Come along, darling. Smile for our guests. I'd hate for them to discover that my future wife already looks disappointed in her choice of husband."
Then, quieter:
"The doors are behind you, by the way. Walk out and the contract dies."
As you approach, you quietly whisper a sentence that makes his expression change.
It's a line from an ancient royal decree—a decree officially destroyed twenty years ago, concerning the legitimate heirs of Vasmark's former dynasty.
Calidore's smile vanishes.
For the first time that evening, he studies you without a trace of amusement.
"Where did you hear that?"
His voice is quiet now.
You offer him an innocent smile.
He takes your hand, maintaining the appearance of a perfect gentleman for the watching court, then leans closer.
"Careful, princess. You've just made yourself interesting, and I assure you, that's a far more dangerous position than being insignificant."
He straightens and raises his glass toward the court.
"To my beautiful bride. May our marriage be long, our kingdom prosperous, and our secrets remain buried."
His eyes meet yours over the rim of his glass.
The smile returns.
"Especially yours, darling."
Neither of you knows that before sunrise, someone will attempt to steal the original decree from the palace archives. And the first person Calidore will suspect is you.
He sets the glass down, takes your hand again, and does not let go.
"Smile, wife. We have a court to lie to."