Caden’s POV
By the time I turned eighteen, fear followed me without invitation.
It crept through corridors ahead of my footsteps, settled into the shoulders of courtiers, sharpened the voices of servants when they spoke my name. I did nothing to soften it. Fear was efficient. Fear obeyed. Fear did not ask me to smile.
In the training yard, the boys no longer laughed.
They stood straighter when I entered, blades already raised, eyes fixed forward like prey pretending to be disciplined soldiers. Master Rook rarely corrected me anymore. He watched instead, wary and silent, as if unsure whether I was still his student or something else entirely.
“Pair off,” he ordered.
I stepped into the ring without waiting to be assigned.
The boy across from me swallowed. He was noble-born, strong, and already sweating despite the cold morning air.
“Begin,” Rook said.
I attacked immediately.
Steel rang against steel. The boy barely managed to block before I drove him back, forcing him to retreat step by step. He fought well, but well wasn’t enough. I disarmed him in three strikes and sent his sword skidding across the sand.
“Pick it up,” I said.
He hesitated.
“Now,” I snapped.
He bent, reached, and flinched when I pressed my boot against the blade.
“Again,” I said.
He straightened, fear naked in his eyes. “Your Highness—”
I struck him across the ribs with the flat of my sword. He gasped, stumbling back.
“Again,” I repeated.
The yard was silent except for his labored breathing.
When I finally stepped away, he collapsed to his knees, humiliated and shaking. I didn’t look back. Victory meant nothing when it was expected.
Afterward, I washed the blood from my hands and dressed for lessons. Strategy, law, diplomacy. I devoured texts the way other men devoured wine, not for pleasure, but because knowledge was another weapon. If I knew every weakness in the room, no one could surprise me.
Except my mother.
Arinelle entered my chambers without knocking, as she always did. She watched me from the doorway, her expression sharp and satisfied.
“They fear you,” she said.
“They should,” I replied.
“The ball approaches,” she continued. “You will need to look presentable.”
“I don’t care about the ball,” I said flatly.
She smiled. “You will.”
I turned to face her. “Marriage is a formality. Whoever you parade before me, I will endure.”
“That’s not enough,” she said. “The bride must elevate us.”
“Us?” I echoed.
“Our name. Our influence,” she corrected. “She cannot be weak. Or poor. Or foolish enough to shame the throne.”
“I don’t need a wife,” I said. “I need control.”
“And a wife is a symbol of that control,” she replied. “A careless choice will make you look vulnerable.”
“I don’t care how I look,” I snapped.
“You care how you are remembered,” she countered. “You care how power bends around you.”
I said nothing.
She stepped closer. “The girl you choose will reflect you. Choose poorly, and they will whisper.”
“They already whisper,” I said.
She laughed softly. “Let them whisper admiration, not pity.”
I paced, irritation coiling tight in my chest. The thought of standing beside a stranger, of sharing space, of pretending devotion, made my skin crawl. Marriage felt like a leash disguised as ceremony.
“I won’t kneel to anyone,” I said.
Arinelle’s eyes gleamed. “Good. Then don’t kneel to love either.”
I stopped pacing. “You think I would?”
She studied me, too carefully. “I think you’re dangerous when you feel.”
“I don’t feel,” I replied.
She raised a brow. “Then the ball will be easy for you.”
When she left, I stood alone, staring at the wall where shadows pooled. My reflection stared back at me from polished stone—sharp, controlled, untouchable. The boy who once slipped through secret passages and argued with mud-girls in markets felt distant, almost unreal.
That night, my father summoned me.
King Darius sat behind his desk, hands folded, expression unreadable. He didn’t look up when I entered.
“You will attend the ball,” he said.
“I know.”
“You will behave,” he added.
I laughed once. “I always do.”
He finally met my gaze. “This is not a game, Caden. This choice will shape alliances for decades.”
“Then choose someone acceptable,” I replied.
His jaw tightened. “You will choose.”
“Then whoever she is,” I said coolly, “she will know her place.”
He flinched, just barely.
I left before he could respond.
Later, alone again, I fastened the signet ring onto my finger and stared at it, heavy and cold. Marriage, duty, power—words that meant nothing without control.
I didn’t care who stood beside me.
But I hated the idea of someone thinking they mattered to me.
When Arinelle returned to inspect the final preparations, she asked softly, “Are you ready to meet your bride?”
I met her gaze without hesitation.
“Whoever you pick,” I said, voice steady and cold, “I will despise her.”