Isla's POV
The dress laces won't cooperate.
My fingers shake too badly to tie them properly. I've tried three times and only made the knots worse. The clock shows six-thirty. Thirty minutes until I face Draeven alone.
"Let me help, Your Highness," Lyra says gently, appearing behind me.
I drop my hands and let her fix my mistakes. She works quickly, turning me into someone who looks confident and elegant. Someone who belongs here.
I don't recognize the girl in the mirror.
"You look beautiful," Lyra says. "The King will be very pleased."
I feel like a fraud in a costume.
A knock sounds. Too soon.
"The King is ready, Princess," a guard announces.
My legs don't want to move. I force them anyway. One step. Another. Lyra opens the door and smiles encouragingly.
The guard escorts me through corridors that feel impossibly long. Each step echoes. Each breath sounds too loud.
We stop outside carved wooden doors.
"The King's private dining room."
The guard knocks twice and pushes the doors open. Warm light spills out. The smell of food makes my empty stomach clench.
I step inside.
The room is smaller than I expected. Intimate. A single table sits near a fireplace. Candles flicker. Two place settings arranged across from each other.
And standing beside the table is Draeven.
He's changed from his armor into simpler clothes. His silver-white hair hangs loose. He looks younger like this. Less like a warrior king. More like a person who could destroy me with one word.
"Princess Celeste." He moves to pull out my chair. "Thank you for joining me."
Like I had a choice.
"Thank you for inviting me, Your Majesty." I sit carefully, arranging my skirts exactly how Lady Helena taught me.
Draeven takes his seat across from me. This close, I can see silver flecks in his gray eyes. Can feel the warmth radiating from his skin—dragon fire always burning beneath the surface.
Servants appear from a side door, placing soup in front of us. Then they disappear.
We're alone.
I pick up my spoon—left hand, small sips, no slurping. Lady Helena's rules echo in my head.
"I hope your chambers are comfortable," Draeven says.
"Very comfortable. Thank you."
"And the tour with Seraphine? Not too overwhelming?"
"It was informative." I take a small spoonful. It tastes amazing, but I barely notice.
"Our palace," Draeven corrects gently. "After the wedding, everything here will be yours too."
The word "wedding" makes my spoon clatter against the bowl. I grab it quickly, heat flooding my face.
Draeven pretends not to notice. "Seraphine can be intense. But she's kind once you know her."
Kind isn't how I'd describe her. Terrifying fits better.
"She seems very wise," I manage.
"She's been advising the dragon throne for over a century. She watched me grow up. Sometimes I think she knows me better than I know myself."
The way he says it—fond but frustrated—makes him seem more real. More human despite the dragon fire in his veins.
Servants return to clear our bowls and bring roasted meat with vegetables. I cut small pieces exactly right, keeping my elbows off the table, chewing with my mouth closed.
"Tell me about your childhood," Draeven says suddenly. "What was it like growing up in the southern palace?"
My mind races through Princess Celeste's manufactured history. Pink rooms. Piano lessons. Dead cat named Snowball.
"It was privileged," I start carefully. "I had everything I could want."
"That sounds lonely."
I look up sharply. "Lonely?"
"Having everything material but nothing real." Draeven sets down his fork. "I grew up surrounded by people who treated me differently because I was the heir. Servants who bowed. Guards who protected. Advisors who taught. But no one who just talked to me like a person."
His honesty catches me off guard. I expected formal questions and careful political conversation. Not this vulnerability.
"I imagine that was difficult," I say softly.
"It was necessary. Being king means sacrifice." He picks up his wine glass but doesn't drink. "What about you? Did you have friends growing up?"
The question is a trap wrapped in genuine curiosity.
Princess Celeste had Lady Margaret. I need to remember that. But the truth wants to pour out—how I had no friends because servants don't have time for friendship. How Thomas was my only real companion.
"I had some friends," I lie. "Lady Margaret from the east. We were close as children."
"Are you still close?"
"We drifted apart. She married young."
"That's sad." Draeven's expression shows real sympathy. "It's hard to maintain childhood friendships when duty calls."
He has no idea how true that is.
The servants bring another course. I'm not even sure what I'm eating anymore. Just mechanically taking bites, trying to look natural.
"What did you like to do as a child?" Draeven asks. "What brought you joy?"
Reading. Learning. Taking care of Thomas. Dreaming about lives I'd never have.
"I enjoyed music," I say instead. "Piano lessons. Though I was never very good."
"I'm tone-deaf," Draeven admits with a slight smile. "Dragons aren't known for musical talent. We're better at roaring than singing."
The joke surprises a real laugh out of me before I can stop it. His smile widens.
"There. That's better. You've been so serious since you arrived. I was starting to worry you didn't know how to smile."
If only he knew how much I wanted to smile. How desperately I miss laughing with Thomas.
"I smile," I say defensively. "Just not always."
"Fair enough. I'm told I'm too serious as well." Draeven leans back. "Maybe we'll balance each other out."
The idea of being his actual partner feels impossible. How can I balance anyone when I'm barely holding myself together?
"Tell me about your brother," Draeven says casually, and my heart stops.
"My brother?"
"You have a younger brother, don't you? Thomas?"
Princess Celeste doesn't have a—wait. No. The fake history. Princess Celeste does have a brother. Prince Thomas. Twelve years old. Healthy. Nothing like my real Thomas at all.
"Yes," I manage. "Thomas. He's he's twelve."
Actually fourteen, my mind screams. Sick. Coughing his lungs out.
"You must miss him," Draeven observes.
My throat closes up. I miss him so much it physically hurts.
"I do," I whisper, and for once it's not a lie.
"It's hard being separated from family." Draeven's voice softens. "When my parents died, I felt completely alone even though I was surrounded by people. The grief made everything hollow."
I look up and see real pain in his eyes. He's not making conversation. He's sharing something true.
"I'm sorry for your loss," I say quietly. "That must have been terrible."
"It was. Still is, some days." He takes a sip of wine. "But we survive. We find new families in unexpected places."
Is he saying he hopes we'll become family? The thought terrifies and tempts me.
The servants clear the final course and bring dessert. I take tiny bites, barely tasting anything.
"Can I ask you something personal?" Draeven says.
Everything in me tenses. "Of course."
"Why did you agree to this marriage? Really? Not the political reasons. Why did you, Princess Celeste, agree to marry a dragon king you'd never met?"
Because I had no choice. Because the Queen threatened to kill my brother. Because I'm not actually Princess Celeste.
"Because" I search desperately for an answer that sounds true. "Because sometimes duty matters more than personal desires."
"Because you had no real choice," Draeven finishes quietly.
I stare at him. Does he know?
"I don't mean that as an insult," he continues. "Royal marriages are rarely about choice. We're both here because our positions demanded it. But I hope we can build something real even if it started as obligation."
Something about his honesty makes my chest ache. He's trying so hard to connect with the woman he thinks I am.
And I'm lying to him with every breath.
"I hope so too," I whisper.
We finish dessert in more comfortable silence. When the servants take away the final plates, Draeven stands and offers his hand.
"Walk with me? There's something I want to show you."
I take his hand carefully. His skin is warm—so warm.
He leads me to a balcony off the dining room. Cold air hits my face, but the stone beneath my feet radiates warmth.
Mountains stretch forever under starlight. Dragons fly in lazy circles. Snow falls gently but never touches the palace.
"This is my favorite place," Draeven says softly. "When everything feels too heavy, I come here and remember how vast the world is."
I understand that feeling more than he knows.
We stand side by side, not touching but close enough that I feel his warmth. For a moment, I let myself imagine this is real. That I'm really Princess Celeste. That this connection has a chance to grow.
Then Draeven speaks, and reality crashes back.
"Do you believe in destiny, Princess?" His voice is quiet, thoughtful. "Or do you think we make our own choices?"
The question freezes me in place.
I don't know how to answer. If I believe in destiny, then I'm meant to be here lying to him. But if I believe in choice, then I chose to deceive a good man.
Either answer condemns me.
"I" My voice fails.
Draeven turns to look at me directly.
"Because sometimes I wonder if people can be destiny's instruments without realizing it. If we're all playing parts in a story we don't fully understand yet."
His words sound like he knows everything.
Before I can respond, he continues.
"The wedding will be in three days. I've already made all the arrangements."
Three days.
Three days until I seal this lie forever with magic that will expose every emotion I feel.
"Three days," I repeat numbly.
"Is that acceptable?" Draeven asks, watching my face carefully.
No. Nothing about this is acceptable. But I don't have a choice.
"Yes," I whisper. "Three days is fine."
Draeven smiles, but his eyes still study me like I'm a puzzle he's determined to solve.