First message
The words landed like a blade across my throat. In two days, you will wed your kin. My father’s voice was iron, unyielding, spoken as though he were announcing the weather, not the ruin of my soul. I could not breathe. My sister’s name echoed in my skull, once soft with childhood trust, now twisted into a chain. My knees gave way before I knew it, the marble floor rushing up to meet me. I heard the scrape of the courtiers shifting, the rustle of silk, the hiss of whispers. Shame burned through me, hotter than fire, colder than death. My chest heaved, but no air came. All I saw was Lydia’s face—gentle, gone—and behind it my sister’s, pale, terrified, waiting for me to protect her. My lips parted, but only a broken sound escaped. I wanted to scream, to curse him, to tear the crown from his head, but the weight of his will crushed me down until I was nothing but a boy weeping on the stone.