A Heart Divided

Chapter 1

The Weight of the Crown

Princess Eliza stood alone by the tall, narrow window of her chambers, staring out into the moonless night. The view from the castle was breathtaking—an endless sea of trees and hills stretched across the horizon, where the river wound lazily through the valley, its surface reflecting the dim glow of distant lanterns. She could almost hear the rustle of the wind, the murmur of the village beyond the castle walls. But within the cold stone walls of Aramore's palace, all was silent.

The weight of it pressed down on her—a life of opulence, of privilege, but also of sacrifice. She had always known it would be this way. The crown demanded it. But now, on the eve of her wedding, the full burden of that truth felt suffocating. Tomorrow, her life would be sealed with a ring, her fate forever intertwined with that of Prince Edmund of Varagon.

She had not yet met him in full, but his reputation had preceded him—handsome, charming, and polite, yes. But Eliza saw through the polished veneer. He was a stranger, a man she would marry for reasons far beyond love. His kingdom's military might and wealth were what her father wanted. And it was those things that would ensure Aramore's survival in a world filled with rising threats and shifting allegiances.

Eliza could already feel her father's words echoing in her mind, cold and authoritative: "Your duty is to the kingdom, not to yourself."

Her hands trembled as she pulled the curtain back slightly, gazing at the palace gardens below, a blur of shadows and flickering torchlight. She longed for the freedom those gardens represented. Freedom to walk through the fields unobserved, to feel the wind in her hair without the weight of a crown bearing down on her every step.

Yet her life was not her own.

Her father's footsteps in the hallway jolted her from her reverie. King Henry, tall and imposing, appeared in the doorway without knocking. His presence was always commanding, though he never needed to raise his voice. His very being exuded authority, a ruler who had governed Aramore for decades with a firm, unyielding hand.

"Eliza," he said, his voice low, "we need to discuss the final preparations."

She turned, offering him a faint smile, though it didn't reach her eyes. The gown for the wedding had been prepared. The hallways were lined with banners, the tables set with gilded plates, and the musicians already practicing for the evening festivities. Everything was ready.

"Father, everything is in place," she replied softly.

"You are sure?" His voice, though calm, held a certain edge. "The kingdom is depending on this union. You understand that, don't you?"

Eliza's throat tightened, but she nodded. Her heart sank, a familiar ache settling deep within her chest. She had no choice.

"Of course, Father," she said, her voice steady despite the storm of emotions churning within her.

King Henry stepped fully into the room, his gaze falling on the intricate wedding gown laid out on the bed. He studied it for a moment before turning back to Eliza, his expression unreadable. "You will wear it tomorrow. It is a symbol of your commitment—to Aramore, to me, to the people."

Eliza's fingers brushed over the fine fabric, feeling the weight of the silk beneath her fingertips. It was beautiful, but it felt as if it were suffocating her.

Her father had never been one for emotional displays, never one to offer words of reassurance or affection. It wasn't his way. The kingdom came first. The people came first. She came second. She had known that from a young age, and the truth had never wavered.

But today, something inside her rebelled.

She turned away from her father, walking toward the window once more, the cool night air brushing her skin as she gazed out at the stars. They seemed so far away, so out of reach. She had never allowed herself to dream of a life different from the one her father had outlined for her. But in this quiet moment, with the weight of the gown and the marriage bearing down on her, she allowed herself to wonder.

What if?

What if she didn't marry Prince Edmund? What if she could walk away from the palace and the politics, from the expectations and the demands? What if there was another life waiting for her—a life where she could choose for herself?

The thought was almost laughable. Her life was written in stone. Her father had made sure of that. And yet, she couldn't shake the feeling of longing that stirred within her. The princess of Aramore was not meant to follow her heart. She was meant to fulfill her duties, to serve the kingdom.

"Father," she said, her voice soft but firm, "I have met with Prince Edmund. I will be ready for the wedding."

Her father's face softened for a brief moment—just a flicker of emotion, almost imperceptible. Eliza knew that he thought this marriage was in her best interest, even though he had never asked her what she wanted.

"Good," he said simply. "Tomorrow is a new beginning. You will make Aramore proud."

The words hung in the air like a thick fog, filling the room with their weight. Proud. It was a word that had followed her her entire life. But she could never escape the feeling that it wasn't her father's pride she longed for—it was her own.

Before she could respond, there was a knock at the door, and Clara, her maid, entered with a tray of tea. She set it on the small table by the window, her eyes bright with curiosity.

"Your Highness, the seamstress has finished with the gown. It is time for you to try it on."

Eliza smiled, though it felt forced. "I'll be there in a moment, Clara. Thank you."

Clara curtsied and left, leaving Eliza alone with her thoughts once again. She glanced down at the gown on the bed, its golden embroidery glinting in the firelight. It was stunning, a work of art. But it was not for her. Not really.

With a deep breath, Eliza pushed the thoughts away. Tomorrow, everything would be decided.

The sound of footsteps in the hallway alerted her to her father's departure. He had done what he came to do—remind her of her duty. He didn't need to say anything more. The marriage would happen. The people would cheer. And she would fulfill her role.

But tonight, alone in her chambers, Eliza could almost feel the weight of the crown pressing against her forehead, its sharp edges cutting into her soul.

The night was still. The wind howled softly outside. And in the quiet, Eliza whispered the question that had been haunting her heart:

Could she ever find a way to choose love over duty?