The Unwanted Princess

Sealed With a Kiss

As the news of our dramatic crowning spread, the streets of London erupted in chaos. Protesters flooded Trafalgar Square, their angry chants echoing off the stone facades of government buildings. The Metropolitan Police struggled to maintain order as the crowds swelled, their numbers growing with each passing hour.

Simon and I watched from a palace window with trepidation.

Within hours, General Graves of the Federation of Sentries immediately set to work, coordinating with local law enforcement to establish a secure perimeter around key locations. Captain Price, representing both the Allied Defense Coalition and the United Alliance of Nations, began navigating the treacherous political waters, arranging meetings with influential MPs and colonial representatives.

Meanwhile, Captain MacTavish and Lieutenant Garrick of the Tactical Response Unit monitored social media and intercepted potential threats, their expertise in rapid response proving invaluable as tensions continued to mount.

Eventually, the tensions eased and only then did we announce our wedding. We decided to make it public event. We had promised transparency with our people from here on out, so we welcomed them in our celebrations, handing out invitations to nearly every citizen we had on record. With a large turn out expected, we chose the town center for the event, optimizing the most space.

As the day of the wedding approached, anticipation and nerves intertwined within me like threads in a tapestry. The prospect of the ceremonial kiss weighed heavily on my mind—a moment meant to symbolize unity and commitment, yet overshadowed by Simon's persistent adherence to his princely decorum.

Amidst these thoughts, I found myself confronting another challenge—the mirror. I hated looking in the mirror. It reminded me all too much of my heritage. Olive-toned skin, dark curly hair that was impossible to brush and even more so to wash. Each coil seemed to have a mind of its own, defying any attempt at taming it into the sleek, controlled styles favored at court. My features, distinctly different from those around me, marked me as an outsider in a world where appearance and lineage carried weight.

As I stared at my reflection, frustration welled up within me. I had spent countless hours in the care of attendants, trying to conform to the expectations of royal elegance, even still after the Queen stepped down. The layers of makeup to lighten my complexion, the elaborate hairstyles meant to disguise my unruly curls—they were all attempts to fit into a mold that was not made for someone like me.

Yet, today I wore my authentic self. I traced the curve of my cheekbone, the arch of my brows, and wondered how much of my future was predetermined by the blood that flowed through my veins. Would I be able to carve out my own path, or was I destined to follow in the footsteps of those who came before me?

I was snapped out of my thoughts as Liora straightened the intricate lace of my gown, I took a deep breath, steeling myself for the ceremony that awaited. The delicate fabric felt cool against my skin and the room smelled warmly like vanilla, my signature scent.

Despite my reservations and the complexities of our relationship, this day marked a pivotal moment not just for Simon and me, but for the entire kingdom. This marriage is the role I was about to assume as Queen.

As Liora adjusted the final folds of my gown, I glanced once more at my reflection in the mirror. I felt her hands pause for a moment.

"You're beautiful, m'lady," she said softly, her voice a reassuring whisper amidst the flurry of activity.

I met her gaze in the mirror, grateful for her steady presence. Liora had been more than a seamstress; she had become a confidante in these uncertain times. Her words carried a weight of sincerity that eased some of the tension coiled within me.