The whispers followed her like a swarm, buzzing through the sun-drenched courtyard where hundreds of nobles had gathered to witness the Alpha King’s bride arrive. A noblewoman murmured behind her fan, “I heard she’s terribly unfortunate looking. ” Her companion leaned closer, her voice dripping with pity. “Twenty-four and never married.
That tells you everything, doesn’t it? ” Someone else sighed loudly, “Poor King Gasper, saddled with an ugly bride for the sake of peace. ”
On the raised dais, King Gasper stood motionless as a statue, his face a mask of careful indifference. He was tall and broad-shouldered, his dark hair slightly too long, his expression revealing nothing—no nervousness, no curiosity, not even a flicker of interest.
He looked like a man who already knew what he was getting and expected the worst. Tam watched him from the shadows, tucked among the Nelvorn guards who had accompanied the royal carriage. She was just a young knight in ill-fitting armor, unremarkable enough to be forgotten. When the carriage rolled to a stop in the center of the courtyard, she kept her breathing steady and her eyes fixed on the scene.
A footman opened the carriage door. The crowd went dead silent. The princess emerged, one delicate hand accepting the footman’s assistance, heavy silk skirts whispering against the steps. She wore pale blue, Nelvorn’s color, embroidered with silver thread that caught the sunlight like stars.
But it was the veil that held every eye—layer upon layer of gossamer silk, pale as moonlight, completely obscuring her face. The princess reached the bottom step and paused, spine straight, head high, waiting. The entire courtyard seemed to hold its breath. King Gasper descended from his dais with predatory grace, his boots echoing against the stone.
His expression stayed carefully neutral. He knew what everyone expected beneath that veil. “Princess Tamara Nelvorn,” he said when he reached the carriage. “Welcome to the kingdom of Valdris.
We are honored by your presence. ”
The princess curtsied low, graceful despite the heavy skirts. King Gasper extended his hand. “May I?
” He asked. A pause stretched out, feeling eternal. Then the princess placed her hand in his, and the crowd leaned forward as one, shameless in their curiosity. “By the custom of your people,” the king continued, “I am granted the honor of the unveiling, of being the first to look upon my bride’s face.
” When the princess nodded, he reached for her veil. The courtyard went so quiet you could hear the fountain’s distant trickle. Would she be as disgraceful as the rumors claimed? Would the Alpha King’s face fall?
King Gasper lifted the gossamer layers, the silk pooling in his hands like water, and went absolutely still. Whatever he’d expected, it wasn’t this. The princess’s face was revealed to the crowd, and the collective gasp shook the castle walls. She was beautiful.
Breathtaking. Chestnut hair that caught the sunlight like spun silk. Clear blue eyes framed by dark lashes. High cheekbones.
Full lips. The kind of face that belonged in paintings. “Gods above! ” someone shouted.
“Look at her! ” A woman gasped, “I thought she was supposed to be plain. Where did those rumors even come from? ” The crowd’s mood shifted from morbid curiosity to celebration in an instant.
Their king hadn’t been saddled with an unfortunate bride. He’d been blessed with a beauty. The princess smiled, demure and lovely. The king smiled back, still looking slightly dazed.
“Tamara, you are—” he started, then seemed to catch himself. “Welcome, princess. Truly. ” She curtsied again, and when she rose, he still hadn’t let go of her hand.
The crowd cheered. And in the back, among the forgettable guards, Tam watched it all unfold. She watched the Alpha King stare at the woman he thought was the real princess. She watched the crowd celebrate a beauty they hadn’t expected.
They probably wouldn’t have been so excited if she hadn’t sent her maid, Alma, in her stead. This is the plan, she reminded herself. Because while King Gasper fell for a pretty face, while the court gossiped about unexpected beauty, while everyone focused on the princess, no one would suspect that the real Princess Tamara stood twenty feet away, posing as an unremarkable knight in ill-fitting armor. And most importantly, no one would stop her from taking back what King Gasper’s father had stolen.
Three days earlier, the Valdrian sun had beaten down through the carriage window, harsh and unforgiving against the dusty road. As harsh and unforgiving as the people who populated this forsaken kingdom. Tam had watched the foreign landscape roll by, forcing herself to memorize the plan. She wasn’t here for love.
She wasn’t here for peace. She was here for what was hers. Now, standing in the courtyard, she felt the weight of that promise settle over her like armor. The crowd was still cheering.
The king was still holding Alma’s hand, lost in her fake smile. Tam adjusted her helmet and stayed perfectly still. They were all looking at the wrong princess.
And by the time anyone realized their mistake, it would be too late.
