Liselotte's carriage rolled slowly through the wide stone avenues that led toward the palace, each turn of the wheel sounding heavier than the last, as though the earth itself wished to remind her of the burden pressing down on her shoulders.
The capital is magnificent, its towering spires of marble and gold gleaming under the midday sun, flags fluttering high with the crest of the empire, and the streets lined with curious citizens craning their necks for a glimpse of the future consort.
To the people, she's a figure of grace and fortune, a woman who would soon walk beside the emperor, yet Liselotte felt none of the glory they saw in her. All she felt was dread, cold and heavy, pooling in her chest and refusing to leave.
