The sun, dressed in quiet gold, had only just begun to brush the ivory spires of Hamilton Palace when Lucia stirred from sleep.
A gentle breeze, scented faintly with roses from the eastern garden, slipped through the sheer curtains of her chamber and stirred the air like a whispered secret.
Morning light pooled across the room — her sanctuary — bathing silk and stone in a soft, forgiving glow.Blush-pink blossoms adorned the painted walls, their vines forever climbing in frozen bloom.
A grand window, tall as two men and framed in delicate silver lace, opened to the kingdom stretching far below.
Lucia lay beneath a white canopy bed draped in linens so fine they felt like clouds beneath her fingertips. Above her, the canopy swayed lazily, moved by wind and the quiet rhythm of dawn.
Her hair — wild and red like autumn leaves caught in firelight — spilled over the edge of the bed in unruly waves that reached her waist. The chambermaids often praised it, just as they praised the freckles scattered across her nose and the bright blue of her eyes. Eyes like the deepest part of the lake, they would say. Yet when Lucia rose and stood before the tall mirror in the corner of her room, admiration felt distant and hollow.
The mirror returned a stranger's gaze. It puzzled her, this strange divide between how the world saw her and how she felt within her own skin. The pale complexion, the high cheekbones, the delicate mouth trained to smile — all of it belonged to a girl others called beautiful. To Lucia, it felt like a costume she had been forced to wear since birth, stitched from glass and expectation.
A soft knock broke her thoughts.
"My lady, the Queen awaits in the dining hall."
Anne's voice was gentle as ever, patient and warm.
Lucia dressed in a lilac satin gown embroidered with tiny pearls and threads of silver. Her slippers tapped lightly against the marble floors as she walked the long corridors toward the dining hall — a vast chamber glittering with chandeliers that mimicked distant stars.
Queen Ruth Hamilton was already seated. Regal without effort, she wore a gown that shimmered with opals, a crown resting lightly upon silver-streaked hair. Her eyes — cool, observant — lifted to Lucia before she had even reached her chair.
"Good morning, Mother," Lucia said, taking her place beside her. Warm scones, honeyed figs, and a goblet of pressed berries waited neatly at her setting.
"Good morning, Lucia," the Queen replied smoothly. "You rise late."
"I was dreaming," Lucia answered, lifting her teacup. "Horses running across frozen lakes."
"A pleasant dream," her mother said, slicing fruit with quiet precision. "But dreams must always make room for duty."
Lucia paused. Something in her mother's tone tightened the air between them. "What duty?"
The Queen set down her knife. Her gaze did not waver. "Your future has been arranged. The suitor will arrive within the fortnight."
The warmth of the tea turned bitter on Lucia's tongue. "A suitor…?"
"You are to be wed, Lucia Grace. The matter is settled."
The grand hall, bright with gold and crystal, suddenly felt immense and empty — like a stage prepared for a performance she had never agreed to give. Her fingers trembled against the porcelain cup. She did not ask his name. Not yet. Some answers, she knew, could change the shape of a life forever.
Though her body remained seated in silk and ceremony, her thoughts fled — racing toward the tall windows, toward open skies, toward anything beyond the palace walls.
And as the Queen reached into the folds of her gown and withdrew a sealed letter marked with a crest Lucia did not recognize, the room seemed to grow impossibly still.
The seal bore a symbol she had only ever seen once before —
on the banner of a kingdom believed the Hamiltons will have no ties whatsoever