|| 𝘿𝙄𝙎𝘾𝙊𝙉𝙏𝙄𝙉𝙐𝙀𝘿
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||•° "The day I laid eyes on you was the day you became mine."
-Lucian
Rosalyn Lucero, the proud and only daughter of the southern Duke...
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In her bedroom, a twelve-year-old girl stared out the wide window. Her brown hair was half-braided, leaving the rest to fall in soft waves down her back.
Her purple eyes watched the garden she had grown up with since birth—the sunlight cascading gently as it began to set.
She had nothing to say. Nothing to do. Just stare at the window while her desk sat cluttered with notes and books.
“Lady Rosalyn.” A maid called out, knocking at the door. Rosalyn glanced over before walking to open it.
“Yes?” Rosalyn asked, tilting her head slightly.
“Your father has called for you,” the maid replied with a bow.
“Ah... I’ll be there shortly,” Rosalyn murmured, her gaze flickering back to the pile of books. A small gut feeling whispered that all her studying would soon go to waste.
Rosalyn walked through the hallways adorned with tall windows, the golden hues of sunset washing over her. She passed a grand portrait of her family, her footsteps light and steady.
The servants bowed as she passed. Rosalyn returned their greetings with a small nod before continuing on to her father’s office. She let out a quiet sigh before raising her hand to knock.
“Come in,” came her father’s cold voice. A nearby servant opened the door for her.
Inside stood Victor Lucero—her father. A brown-haired man who valued honor and family name above all else.
“Greetings, Father,” Rosalyn said, curtsying politely. She lifted the hem of her skirt and bowed as her father, who had been facing the window, turned to look at her.
He glanced at Rosalyn with his cold, dark blue eyes before gesturing for the servant to leave.
With a soft click, the door shut.
“Did you need something, Father?” Rosalyn asked, standing straight with her hand placed over her chest. Her eyes shone with faint eagerness.
“Rosalyn, you’re twelve now, correct?” Victor asked, folding his hands behind his back as he turned to face her fully.
“Yes, Father. I turned twelve three months ago,” she answered, bowing her head slightly.
“Hm... the same age as the crown prince,” Victor muttered, clicking his tongue before sitting down behind his desk.
“Is something the matter?” Rosalyn asked, tilting her head. What does that perfect prince have to do with anything? she thought, lips twitching downward.
“His Royal Majesty, the Emperor, has issued a decree. You are to be engaged to the Crown Prince,” Victor said, folding his hands on the desk.
Rosalyn’s expression faltered, her face falling into confusion. “Pardon? I thought His Highness was to be engaged to the princess of the Valdir Empire for the treaty?”
