"WE WILL RETURN to the homeland to get married, my princess." So, would I really get married? To him? Suddenly, I remembered all the girlish fantasies I had in the past, before I knew who I was and what was expected of me – daydreams I was sure would come true thanks to the love my parents had for each other. Not once had I included in that little girl's dreams a marriage proposal that would not be at all real. Nor that the proposal would take place at a table full of strangers, half of whom wanted me dead. And those dreams certainly did not include what must have been the worst – and probably the most paranoid – non-proposal of marriage from a man who, for the moment, held me captive. Maybe I had some brain disorder. Perhaps I was hallucinating due to anxiety. After all, I had so many painful deaths to process. To face his betrayal. And I had just learned that I descended from Atlantia, a kingdom that, growing up, I had been made to believe was the source of all the country's woes and tragedy. Anxiety-induced hallucinations seemed a much more plausible explanation than what was really happening to me.

All I could do was look at the larger hand holding my smaller one. His skin was considerably darker than mine, sun-kissed. After so many years of sword training, his palms were covered in calluses. He raised my hand high and brought it in front of a shamelessly well-shaped and full mouth. Lips that were soft yet relentlessly hard. Lips that had uttered beautiful words and whispered warm and mischievous promises on my bare skin. Lips that had paid tribute to my body and face, covered with countless scars. Lips that had also spoken bloodstained lies. Now, that same mouth rested on the top of my palm in a gesture that, just a few days or weeks ago, I would have adored forever and found extremely tender. Simple things like holding someone's hand or innocent kisses were forbidden to me. As was being desired or feeling passion. I had long since accepted that I would never taste such experiences.