By the time breakfast rolled around the next morning, the whole palace knew.
I could tell by the way the servants kept giving me these weird sideways glances—like they weren't sure whether to curtsy or offer me a condolence muffin.
News travels fast when you're a princess. Especially when it involves being shipped off to Caelorth to marry Prince Brood-and-Gloom himself.
But I wasn't in the mood to socialize. Or smile. Or hear another person say, "It's for the good of the kingdom."
----
So naturally, that's when my siblings decided to stage an intervention.
"Why are you sitting in the dark like a villain?"
That was my sister. Seraphina. Fourteen years old. Eyes like a hawk. Attitude like a dragon with a hangover.
She strutted into my sitting room like she owned the place—lace gloves, boots she definitely stole from my closet, and a half-eaten apple she had no intention of not dripping onto the carpet.
"Do you mind?" I asked, not looking up from my book. "I'm practicing my brooding. It's part of my preparation for marrying into Caelorth."
She flopped onto the couch dramatically, kicking her legs over the armrest. "You're going to be so bad at being a queen. You don't even have a good royal death glare."
"I do too."
"Nope." She took another bite of her apple. "You look constipated when you do it."
Charming.
Before I could throw a pillow at her, the door creaked again. Enter: my older brother, Dorian—Crown Prince of Veylinthia, Heir to the Rose Throne, and possibly the most annoyingly composed human in existence.
"Ladies," he greeted, stepping inside with the quiet confidence of someone who always gets his way and probably has a secret drawer of diplomatic medals somewhere.
I raised a brow. "You too? What is this, a family ambush?"
"It's not an ambush," Seraphina said, through a mouthful of fruit. "It's a support circle."
"That's what people say right before an ambush."
---
They sat on either side of me, like bookends made of chaos and calm.
Dorian leaned forward, elbows on his knees. "I wanted to check on you. Father said you took the news... poorly."
"Oh, you mean the part where I'm being traded like a rare goat to marry into a kingdom of emotionally repressed icicles? Yeah. I'm thriving."
Seraphina snorted. "She cried in the library for two hours yesterday."
I glared. "Excuse me—I was dramatically processing."
"Next to a tower of romance novels and one murder mystery."
"It's called balance."
---
Dorian smiled faintly, like he was amused and concerned at the same time. It was his specialty. That whole gentle disappointment vibe.
"Chloe," he said. "I know this isn't what you wanted. But you know how bad things have gotten. We're low on funds. Our borders are unstable. The people are scared."
"And marrying me off is the solution?"
He didn't answer right away.
Which told me everything I needed to know.
"I'm not mad at you," I said, voice quieter now. "Or even at Father. I get it. I do. I just... wish I had a choice. Or a say. Or even a damn portrait of the guy I'm supposed to marry."
"He's handsome," Seraphina offered.
I blinked. "You've seen him?"
"No. But I've read stories. All Caelorth princes are hot and terrible. It's part of the lore."
"Great. Can't wait to get emotionally destroyed by a man with good cheekbones."
---
Dorian leaned back, arms crossed. "You'll have power, Chloe. Influence. You'll be the link between two kingdoms. And with your brain and mouth, you might actually survive court politics."
"That was almost a compliment."
"Don't get used to it."
Seraphina sat up. "Okay, but real question: What if he's, like, a total war criminal with the personality of a soggy boot? What then?"
"I fake my death and become a traveling potion-seller," I said immediately.
"I was gonna say poison his tea, but sure, your way works too."
Dorian sighed. "You two are going to give me an ulcer."
---
We sat in silence for a minute after that.
The kind that fills a room like dust—quiet and heavy and impossible to avoid.
Then Dorian spoke again, softly.
"I'll miss you."
I looked over.
He wasn't smiling this time.
Not his polite prince smile. Not even his 'I'm older and wiser and smug about it' smile.
Just real, raw honesty.
I swallowed. "Yeah. I'll miss you too."
"Not me?" Seraphina asked, mock offended.
"You, I'll haunt," I said. "Daily. Loudly. From beyond the veil."
She grinned. "Aw. Love you too."
---
We ended up staying there a while—just the three of us, half-sprawled on cushions, sharing dumb childhood stories and half-eaten pastries like things weren't about to change forever.
And maybe that's what I needed.
Not another lecture. Not another political explanation.
Just this.
A moment to breathe.
To be Chloe, sister, smartmouth, not just Princess Betrothed of Veylinthia.
Because soon, I'd be gone.
And I didn't know what version of myself I'd have to become when I got there.
But I knew this: I'd face it the way I faced everything—with stubbornness, sarcasm, and possibly a very small knife hidden in my boot.
Just in case.