(Authors note: this is somewhat unedited, and a prologue of sorts 🤣 Enjoy!)

I knew the love spell placed upon me was snuffed the second I looked upon Nathanus a day before our arranged wedding. Because I felt _numb._

__

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Nothing.

That bitch Myrthal lied to me.

Nathanus snaked a hand upon mine, wherein was rested upon the rotund table we sat. A gentle chorus of chatter echoed and bounced within the parlour, but all I could hear was white noise. Much as I attempted to yank myself back to reality, I simply couldn’t. I was taut, my gaze tethered to my future husband. My future King. The King who was vowed to me, who I vowed my soul to. My eyes were wide and glossed with unshed tears, throat dried and aching.

I was _lied_ to.

My heart was galloping within my chest. I was thankful the King knew me not enough to understand my social cues, otherwise he would broach my fearful expression, and would do so without shame and volume.

I inhaled a sharp breath and graced Nathanus a gentle smile when he squeezed my hand, attempting to mask my torment. It was ash upon my skin. His touch was grating nails; a stark contrast to the warmth that thrummed within me before the spell _wore off._

My smile tightened.

The spell faded, and I was getting married tomorrow. I wanted to laugh, I really did. But the sound was burning and bound within my throat. The troth owed was a limited spell it seemed, and after a long year of thinking it was eternal, here I am. Feeling the divinity melt away.

I squeezed Nathanus’ hand tenderly, my own trembling.

Raw, hot ire brewed within me. I was folly to think Myrthal would vow honesty when forging the spell. I should have known that _thing_ would betray me. Locate some loophole. Faelings relished it. Crafting a fool of mere mortals.

I glanced away, forcing myself to veer upon our combined families. To summon a distraction.

Chatting with mirth they were, donned in ornate fabrics with a resplendent hue in arcordance to their tastes. My mother, wise as she was, was garb within a deep crimson gown, inlaid with silver gems. My father was swathed in a black tunic and a wolf’s pelt, his onyx locks smoothed back and tamed.

I relished my mother’s taste in fashion. It was how I adopted my own style, no thanks to her.

I shifted upon the seat, recalling the lurid mandarin shades fabric I was garb in. I swallowed and reigned in a wince, my distaste for it venom upon my skin.

I loathed such dauntingly bright shades, but the kingdom of Rael relished such hues. When I was under the spell, I, too, reveled in its choice of colour.

It was flesh I wished to shed now.

If I wanted to keep this marriage alive, I needed to find that faeling again. I promised half my life to her when I first approached her; to end the suffering and consequences of the arranged marriage. Myrthal, the crone who betrayed me, chortled at my request. Broached that various maidens summoned her within her longevity and pleaded for what was so seamlessly dropped upon my lap. Or some semblance of it.

Love.

Much as I wished to find love, I knew my life was not my own when I comprehended the duties I were to heft when I came of age. I didn’t summon Myrthal for love, no. I summoned her to escape my responsibilities. If I could switch places with a mere merchant, I would. Perhaps I should have mediated a wish like that instead.

_A princess’ life was not her own_, my father’s taut and firm voice echoed within the back of my mind, _it belonged to the crown._

That’s when I knew I’d never find love. If I were blind within the arranged marriage, I decided, I could live throughout such punishment without shame or fear. Without being awakened to its tethers.

I needed to locate Myrthal again tonight. Gift the unseemly fae another troth, one that does not thieve another ten years of my life. Or I accept the consequences of both my and Nathanus’ families wroth, confess my sins, and face my fear of commitment.

Or run away.