Breathe

The announcer's voice booms through the grand hall, declaring our arrival. My body tenses, and I instinctively try to pull away, but the king's grip on my hand is like a vice, unyielding. So I have no choice but to walk in beside him, my arm entangled with his, as if I'm his chosen companion. His date, on his birthday. Not the queen. How perfectly normal. Nothing strange or wrong about that at all.

As we descend the wide marble staircase, I feel the weight of countless eyes locked onto us. The room is filled with nobles adorned in their finest silks and jewels, and I can see their expressions shift as they watch us. Envy flashes in the eyes of some, a kind of twisted jealousy at my proximity to the king. Others look at me with pity, though whether it's genuine or laced with condescension, I can't tell. And then there's more envy, thick and seething. To all those people, I want to say: You can have my place if you want it so badly.