A royal settlement

Chapter 1||the shattered illusion

SONG :WHAT WAS I MADE FOR? - BILLIE EILISH

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PRINCESS ÉLODIE DE VALOIS

The grandeur of Versailles had always felt like a dream-one that I once believed in with every beat of my heart. The world saw us as paragons of perfection, golden and untouchable, but I knew better. Beneath the surface, behind the gilded mirrors and velvet curtains, lay a truth too bitter to swallow.

I was once the apple of my father's eye, his little girl who hung on his every word. He taught me how to ride a bike, his hands steadying me until I could pedal on my own. He brushed my hair gently, whispering that love knew no conditions, that it was always there, like the sun rising after the darkest night. I believed him. I believed in us.

But everything changed after my brother's death.

Étienne, my older brother, the heir to the throne, was killed by a mafia syndicate in a senseless act of violence. I still remember the day the news reached us, the way my mother's scream echoed through the palace, how my sister Sophie collapsed in tears. But it was my father's reaction that haunts me the most. He didn't scream or cry. He simply... stopped. His heart, once full of warmth, turned to ice. The father I knew vanished that day, replaced by a man who was present in body but absent in every other way that mattered.

As the months passed, his coldness deepened, spreading through the palace like a winter frost. Where there was once love, there was now only duty, obligation, and an unbearable silence. He no longer looked at me with the warmth of a father, but with the calculating eyes of a king. I was no longer Élodie, his daughter-I was a piece on his chessboard, to be moved and sacrificed as he saw fit.

One evening, while walking to the library, my sanctuary among the endless halls, I overheard my father's voice, sharp and final, cutting through the silence. I froze, hidden by the heavy velvet drapes, and listened.

"She will marry Monsieur Laurent," my father said, his tone colder than the marble beneath my feet. "The contract is signed. This is what's best for the kingdom."

My heart pounded in my chest, the words striking me like a blow. They weren't meant for my ears, yet they carried the weight of a decree. Monsieur Laurent-a man I had never met, whose name alone sent shivers down my spine. A ruthless tycoon, older, powerful, and utterly without warmth. My future, decided without so much as a word to me.

"She's still a child," I heard my mother say, though her voice held no real protest. It was more an observation, a fact noted without emotion. "And hardly beautiful enough to catch his eye."

A silence followed that stung deeper than her words. I pressed my hand to my chest, as if that could stop the aching that spread through me. I had always known that I was not the fairest among us, but hearing it said so bluntly by my own mother left a wound that I wasn't sure would ever heal.

"This is not about beauty, Isabelle," my father replied, his tone curt. "It's about securing our future. She will do her duty."

"Of course," my mother sighed, as if resigning herself to some inevitable disappointment. "She will do what is required. She always does."

They spoke of me as if I were not their daughter, but a problem to be managed, a duty to be fulfilled. I stood there, trembling, trying to process what I had just heard, trying to hold on to some semblance of composure. My future was being bartered away, and all they saw was a way to strengthen their position, not the life they were condemning me to.

When I finally pulled myself away from the shadows and entered the dining room, the atmosphere was as stifling as ever. My father sat at the head of the table, his gaze distant, already elsewhere, as if the meal before him was merely another formality. My mother, elegant as always, regarded me with a critical eye, her lips pressed into a thin line.

"Élodie," she said, her voice clipped. "Your hair is unkempt. How many times must I remind you to present yourself properly? You'll never make a suitable wife if you don't at least try to look the part."

I bit back a retort, swallowing the fire that threatened to burst forth. My mother had always found fault in me-my appearance, my demeanor, my very existence seemed to irritate her. I took my seat without a word, refusing to give her the satisfaction of seeing how her comment had stung.

Sophie sat across from me, her gaze fixed on the empty plate before her. She had always been distant, lost in her own world, a place I could never reach. There was a time when we were close, when she would share her secrets with me, and I with her. But that was before Étienne was taken from us. After our brother's death, Sophie withdrew into herself, and I lost her to the shadows of her own mind.

The silence in the room was suffocating, broken only by the clinking of silverware on china. I felt the weight of their expectations, their indifference, pressing down on me like a heavy shroud. My father, the man who had once been my hero, didn't even look at me. My mother's gaze was critical, ever assessing, finding me lacking in every way. Sophie was there in body, but her mind was miles away.

I wanted to scream, to demand why I was being treated like a piece in their game, why my life was being traded for power and influence. But I knew it would fall on deaf ears. My father's heart had turned to stone the day Étienne died, and my mother... well, she had always been more concerned with appearances than anything else.

In that moment, I knew-something had to change. My story was not yet written, and if I couldn't have the love I longed for, I would find something else, something real, even if it meant tearing apart the world that had imprisoned me.