He was supposed to be a distraction. A loud, colorful, sharp-tongued jester designed to make Y/n laugh so she'd stop looking like she was attending her own funeral at every gala.

It worked. Too well. Lucien had somehow morphed from a court appointment into the only person in the palace who didn't treat Y/n like a fragile piece of porcelain or a political bargaining chip.

Then came the announcement. Prince Adrian of Valedorn. The perfect match. The stable choice. The guy who was objectively great, which somehow made the whole thing feel even worse.

Now, the castle was basically a giant wedding Pinterest board. Banners everywhere. Florists screaming. People whispering. It was suffocating.

The palace library was the only place where the air didn't feel like it was made of lace and expectations.

Y/n was tucked away in the restricted archives, drifting through dust motes and old leather. A heavy royal ledger sat open on the table, its pages yellowed and smelling of damp earth.

On one page, a family portrait. The Duke and Duchess had their faces aggressively scrubbed out with thick, black ink. A violent red seal was stamped over the void: TRAITORS.

But the third portrait was untouched. A young boy with dark, solemn eyes and a look of quiet mischief.

Beneath the sketch, elegant faded script read: Betrothed to the Princess.

The memory hit like a physical punch. A boy from a lifetime ago. Clever. Funny. The boy who used to make Y/n laugh before he simply vanished from the world.

A sudden presence materialized beside her. A lean figure leaning over her shoulder, the faint jingle of bells echoing in the silence of the archive.