Cyrus’s POV.

I left the bed at three in the morning. No doors slammed. No noise. I walked to the corridor. I sat at my desk staring at the betrothal contract. The parchment was older than our relationship. Every clause is detailed. Every expectation is outlined. My signature looked naive.

"Your Highness, the council meeting, "I'll be early," I said, already standing. Marcus gave me a look but stayed silent. The council chamber was blessedly tedious. The trade routes, tax disputes, and border patrols. I focused on every word.

"You seem distracted, your Highness," Chancellor Aldric said. I fake-smiled and replied calmly, "I'm listening." "Arrangements can be… complicated." My head snapped up. "What?"

"The marriage arrangement. These contracts serve the kingdom, but they can be personally complex."

"You knew?"

"Many of us knew." I stood. "This meeting is over." Marcus jogged to keep up.

"How many?" I asked.

"Your Highness?"

"How many people knew I was the idiot who thought?" I stopped. "Never mind." A servant approached. "The Crown Princess requests, "

"Tell her I'm occupied."

"She's already sent three."

"Then tell her I'm very occupied."

He fled.

When I turned the corner, she was waiting. Our eyes met. I noticed she was hurt and exhausted. the way she clasped her hands.

I walked the other way. "Coward," Marcus muttered.

"You're dismissed."

"Someone needs to tell you the truth."

"Not today."

The King's announcement came at dinner, a formal affair I couldn’t avoid. She sat three seats away. Close enough to smell her perfume. Far enough to pretend she didn’t exist.

"A hunting expedition," the King declared. "Three days. You and the Crown Princess will attend.Her face went blank.

"Of course, Father," I said. I didn’t look at her again, but felt her gaze the entire meal.

The hunting camp was worse, intimate, too quiet. "You'll share the royal tent," the quartermaster said. "Separate chambers."

"Fine."

She arrived an hour later. Our eyes met. I pretended to read. Canvas walls. Thin. I heard everything: her quiet conversation, the rustle of fabric, her breathing.

At midnight, I was awake throughout the night. "We need to talk," she said from behind the curtain. I smirked and snapped, “There's nothing to discuss."

''Cyrus, the contract was clear. You fulfilled your duty. Very convincing performance." There was silence. Then, "It wasn't like that,'' she said.

"Then tell me. When did it stop being a duty? Or is that still part of the arrangement?" Her sharp intake of breath. "I see," she whispered.

Her footsteps retreated. Soft crying followed. I pressed my forehead to the tent pole. The hunt started badly. I rode ahead, pushing my horse. Fog thickens between trees.

"You're going to break your neck," Marcus said. "Maybe that would be simpler."

"She's miserable. Hasn't eaten in three days."

"Not my concern."

"Right. That's why you watched her the entire ride."

I didn't answer. I had watched. Her posture was perfect despite exhaustion, her smile forced.

A shout from the rear. Screaming. The boar charged the ladies. Charged her. My horse was already moving. I drew an arrow, an impossible angle, too far, she was going to die.

The arrow hit the boar's throat. It collapsed three feet from her horse. She was shaking but unhurt. Our eyes met. Relief hit me hard. ''You're welcome," I said coldly, and rode off. She found me at camp’s edge that evening.

"Thank you," she said.

"I would’ve done that for anyone. Don’t read into it."

"Of course."

She turned, then stopped. Held out a letter.

"This arrived. From my father."

I read it. Fury rose. Phase Two should begin once his commitment is secured. Your family’s future depends on complete success…

"Phase Two?" I asked quietly.

"I don’t know what it means. I didn’t know about this." "So there’s more." "I'm telling you because I’m not part of it."

"Not part of it?" I crushed the letter. "You ARE it. Another move in their game." "I fell in love with you!" she cried. "That wasn’t planned. I didn’t know how to tell you because I was terrified of this."

"How convenient that your feelings aligned with your family’s interests."

She flinched.

"I understand, but you'll never believe me,"she whispered and walked away. I slammed my fist into a tree.

A week later, we were perfect. At the diplomatic reception, I guided her with a hand on her back. We smiled, laughed, and performed flawlessly.

No one knew we hadn’t spoken privately in days. Slept in separate wings. That the distance between us had widened into a chasm.

At the portrait sitting, the painter arranged us. "Look at each other," he said. I forced myself to meet her eyes. She looked back.

Everything hung between us. There were accusations, explanations, apologies, love, hurt, hope, and even despair.

Neither of us held the gaze. "Perhaps another pose," the painter murmured. I stood a foot from my wife and felt the distance like an ocean.