Princess Everburn stepped into her father’s private study, closing the heavy oak door behind her. The chamber smelled of old parchment and candle wax, the air still save for the soft scratching of a quill. Books lined the walls—volumes of history, records of war. Their kingdom had endured for centuries, and it hoarded knowledge as fiercely as it did power.

  King Everburn sat at his broad wooden desk, posture straight, expression unreadable. His piercing gaze flicked toward her only once before returning to the scrolls before him. Maps, diagrams, accounts of battles long past—she recognized them vaguely, but her mind was elsewhere.

  She hesitated, then stepped forward. “Father.”

  “Daughter,” he replied, not looking up, his quill moving steadily.

  She waited, expecting more, but when none came, she pressed on. “Lord Harriot will arrive within the hour.”

  “I am aware.”

  Silence stretched between them, broken only by the soft scratch of ink on parchment.

  Princess Everburn lifted her chin. “I will do what is required of me,” she said. “I do not wish for this, but I understand why it must be done.”

  The quill paused. He did not look at her yet, but she knew he was listening.

  “But…” She exhaled slowly, carefully choosing her words. “I feel it, Father. The blood. Our birthright and our curse. It stirs.”

  Now, his eyes met hers. No surprise. No concern. Just quiet, measured understanding.

  She continued, voice steady, but with something buried beneath—something she did not dare name. “It rises when I think of this marriage. When I think of a stranger binding himself to our house—to me. I temper it. I control it. But tell me—how do you silence it completely?”

  King Everburn leaned back in his chair, studying her as if she were a passage in one of his books. Then, setting his quill aside, he spoke.

  “You do not.”

  Her fingers curled. “…Then how do you master it?”

  His gaze was steady, unshaken.

  Then, a chuckle.

  “You don’t always need to, my little princess. Not at my age. “For most of my life, I fought it. Perhaps harder than I needed to.” He exhaled, as if amused. “But now? Now, the blood is an old friend. It speaks, and I listen.”

  She stiffened. He stood, stepping around the desk, coming to stand before her.

  “My time grows short,” he said, voice warm in a way she rarely heard. “But I have no fear of our legacy fading.” He studied her face, then shook his head. “Do you believe any man—no matter how wealthy, how powerful, how well-positioned—will ever have dominion over you?”

  She did not answer. She didn’t need to.

  “No,” he said. “Regardless of whom you wed, he will never wield the true power in this kingdom.”

  His voice was firm but not unkind.

  “Your children will bear your name. The decisions that shape this kingdom will fall to your hands, not his. You are Everburn.” He pced a hand on her shoulder, a rare gesture of affection. “That means more than crowns and contracts.”

  A silence settled between them, heavier now. She could feel the weight of expectation pressing down, could already see the path id before her. And yet, she could not resist one st question.

  She let out a breath—half a sigh, half a ugh. “So I inherit a kingdom. But what about love?” She arched a brow. “I suppose that would be too much to expect as well?”

  The warmth in her father’s eyes did not fade, but it did not soften, either.

  “Yes,” he said simply. “Love is a luxury. But we shaped you. Isn’t that love?”

  She blinked, her smirk faltering.

  He meant it as reassurance. That was the worst part.

  Princess Everburn straightened, forcing a small, wry smile. “Well,” she said, turning for the door, “I suppose that will have to be enough.”

  She left him to his maps.