Moradean Lochlan felt trapped, and hated her life. Always forced to sit through lessons on how to be a lady, how to rule a country. Suffocating in corsets and big ballgowns, wrist stinging from every time she even thought about slouching. And for what? Her brother was the eldest by two years, he was heir to the throne. She was just the princess, good for alliances and news broadcasts. Moradean ran, far as her legs could carry her, without a second thought. Away from her betrothed, away from her responsibilities, and directly into the arms of a kindhearted stranger.