BETROTHED TO THE ARROGANT PRINCE-HIS UNTAMED WARRIOR QUEEN

✷✷✷CAMELOT✷✷✷

"You must be kidding me, Father."

Prince Orion stood in the war room, arms crossed over his chest, every inch of him radiating barely controlled fury. The afternoon sun slanted through the tall windows, casting long shadows across the massive oak table that dominated the space. Maps and battle plans cluttered its surface territories marked in red, supply routes traced in ink, the careful choreography of war laid bare. But none of it mattered now. Not when his father had just dropped a gods-damned bomb into his life.

King Matthias of Camelot didn't even look up from the letter he was reading, his weathered fingers tracing the wax seal. "I assure you, I am perfectly serious."

"A marriage." Orion's voice dropped to something dangerously quiet, the kind of tone that made seasoned warriors take a step back. "To some spoiled little princess from a kingdom I could conquer before breakfast."

"Silvara may be small," his father said, finally setting down the parchment, "but it's one of the wealthiest kingdoms in the realm. And strategically positioned along the eastern trade routes." 

He met Orion's gaze, steel meeting steel. "You need an heir before you can take this throne, or have you forgotten the terms of succession?"

Orion's hands curled into fists at his sides. "I haven't forgotten anything."

"Then you understand why this is necessary."

"Necessary?" A bitter laugh escaped him. "There are a dozen princesses who'd crawl over broken glass for the chance to marry me. Why her? Why some nobody from a kingdom that can't even defend itself?"

"Because Aldric is my oldest friend." Matthias's voice hardened. "Because his kingdom is vulnerable, and three territories have already fallen to raiders in the past four months, an alliance with Silvara strengthens our eastern border and secures trade routes that keep Camelot wealthy." He leaned forward, palms flat on the table. "And because I am your king, and I have made this decision. Your personal preferences are irrelevant."

"My personal preferences?" Orion's voice rose, months of frustration finally breaking through his iron control. "This is my life you're bartering away like I'm some... some political pawn!"

"You are a prince." His father's fist came down on the table, rattling ink pots and sending a compass skittering across the map. "You have been groomed for this since birth. You've commanded armies since you were sixteen. You've never lost a battle. Kingdoms tremble at the mention of your name." He straightened, and suddenly he looked every one of his fifty-eight years tired, worn, but unyielding. "And now you will do what every ruler before you has done. You will marry for the good of your kingdom."

"I don't care about Aldric's problems," Orion bit out. "I'm not some hired sword you can deploy to prop up failing kingdoms. If Silvara can't defend itself, maybe it doesn't deserve to survive."

The words hung in the air, cold and brutal.

Matthias's expression went glacial. "That is enough."

"Is it?" Orion pushed away from the table, pacing like a caged animal. "You're asking me to chain myself to some spoiled brat who probably faints at the sight of blood. Who's probably never held a sword in her pampered little life. Who..."

"But she's very beautiful."

Both men froze, turning toward the doorway where Queen Helena stood, serene and unruffled despite the testosterone-fueled argument she'd just walked into. She glided forward, her silk skirts whispering against the stone floor, emerald green fabric catching the light. Her silver-blonde hair was swept up in an elegant twist, and her blue eyes held that particular brand of maternal patience that could weather any storm.

"The most beautiful princess across all the lands, they say." She came to stand beside her husband, placing a gentle hand on his arm, a gesture that somehow managed to be both comforting and commanding. "Hair like spun gold, and eyes that change color with her moods. Surely that counts for something, darling?"

Orion stared at his mother, incredulous. "Beauty? You think I care about..."

"What?"

The outraged shriek came from the corridor, followed by the rapid click of heeled boots on stone. Princess Giselle swept into the room like a storm in silk and fury, all dark curls and flashing eyes. At twenty years old, she was the terror of the Camelot court, beautiful, brilliant, and utterly unwilling to play by anyone's rules but her own. The gown she wore was expensive enough to fund a small army, but she wore it like armor, her chin tilted at that particular angle that meant someone was about to get eviscerated. She planted her hands on her hips, fixing their mother with an indignant glare that could have melted steel.

 "Mother. Mother. I thought you said I was the most beautiful princess in all the lands. Are you taking it back now? Just like that?"

Helena's lips twitched. "Giselle.."

"No, no, I want to know." Giselle's smile was sharp enough to draw blood, a mirror of her brother's when he was in a mood to destroy. "Am I being dethroned by some foreign princess Orion hasn't even met? Some little nobody from a tiny kingdom? How utterly devastating for me. Should I go throw myself off the nearest tower, or will a dramatic fainting spell suffice?"

"This isn't a joke," Orion growled, shooting his sister a look that would have sent most people running.

Giselle just smiled wider. "Oh, I know it's not a joke. Jokes are funny. This..." she gestured at him, at their father, at the whole ridiculous situation "...is a tragedy. But watching you throw a tantrum like a spoiled child who's been told he can't have dessert? That's definitely entertainment."

"I am not throwing a tantrum..."

"You're literally pacing and snarling like a feral dog."

"I'm expressing my displeasure with..."

"Throwing. A. Tantrum." Giselle smiled.

"Honestly, Orion, you're twenty-seven years old. You've slaughtered entire armies. You've made grown men weep with fear. And you're falling apart because Father wants you to marry a pretty princess? It's almost embarrassing."

Orion took a step toward his sister, a muscle ticking in his jaw. "When it's your turn to be sold off like livestock, we'll see how you..."

"You will be traveling to Silvara."

King Matthias's voice cut through the brewing sibling war like an executioner's axe... final, absolute, and completely devoid of mercy. He picked up the letter again, his weathered hands steady as he scanned the elegant script. "Aldric has sent word. They expect an attack on their northern border within the week. His armies are mobilizing as we speak."

The room went very, very quiet.

Orion stopped pacing, his warrior's instincts suddenly on high alert. "An attack?"

"Lord Garrick of the Ashlands has been consolidating power." Matthias set down the letter, his expression grim. "He's already absorbed three smaller territories. Aldric believes Silvara is next on his list."

"Then let him send his own armies..."

"His armies are half the size of ours, and he's old, Orion. Too old to lead a campaign." The king's gaze was steady, unyielding. "I will not stand by while my oldest friend's kingdom burns. You will leave at first light. You will lead our forces to Silvara's aid. And you will ensure that Princess Adrienne survives long enough to become your wife."

Orion's mind was already calculating troop movements, supply lines, and the fastest route to Silvara's northern border. But beneath the tactical planning, fury still simmered. 

"She probably doesn't even know which end of a sword to hold. I'll be babysitting some terrified princess while her father's men do the actual fighting."

"Then you'll have nothing to worry about, will you?" Matthias turned back to his maps, effectively dismissing him. "Make sure she survives. That's all I ask."

"That's all you ask," Orion repeated, his voice hollow with disbelief. "As if my entire future isn't being decided by..."

"Your future was decided the day you were born a prince." His father didn't look up. "You've always known this. You've always known that duty comes before desire. Before freedom. Before whatever romantic notions you've been harboring about..."

"This has nothing to do with romance," Orion snapped. "This has to do with choice. With having some say in my own gods-damned life."

"You have no choice." Matthias finally looked up, and there was something almost sympathetic in his eyes. Almost. 

"None of us do. That's what it means to wear a crown, Orion. You, of all people, should understand that by now."

The muscles in Orion's jaw worked, his teeth grinding together hard enough to ache. Every instinct screamed at him to refuse, to walk out, to find Celeste and lose himself in arms that actually wanted him there. In a relationship that made sense. That wasn't built on political necessity and treaty negotiations. But his father's word was law in Camelot. And Orion had never failed an order in his life. He had never walked away from duty, no matter how much it cost him.

"Fine." The word came out cold. Every emotion locked down behind the iron discipline that had made him the most feared warrior in five kingdoms. "I'll save your friend's precious daughter. I'll play the hero. But don't expect me to like her."

"I don't expect you to like her, Orion." His father's voice softened, just slightly. "I expect you to marry her. There's a difference."

Across the room, Giselle let out a very unladylike snort. "Oh, this is going to be so entertaining. Can I come? Please? I'll behave. I promise."

"No," Orion and both his parents said in unison.

His sister pouted. "You're all terrible. I'm the only interesting person in this family, and you never let me do anything fun."

"Your idea of fun and mine differ wildly," Orion muttered, turning on his heel and stalking toward the door. His mother's voice stopped him at the threshold, gentle but implacable.

"Orion?"

He didn't turn around.. If he looked at her, he might actually break.

"What?"

"Try not to terrify the poor girl." Queen Helena's tone held that particular softness she reserved for moments when she was about to say something he wouldn't want to hear. "She's not your enemy, darling. She's probably just as trapped as you are."

"Isn't she?" He glanced back over his shoulder, something dark and bitter twisting in his chest. "She's taking my freedom. She's taking my choice. She's taking the rest of my life and forcing it into a shape I never wanted. Seems like an enemy to me."

He left before anyone could respond, his boots echoing down the corridor like the countdown to an execution.

"Ten gold coins says she hates him on sight."

"Make it twenty," their mother replied, not unkindly. "And I'll take that bet. No one could hate Orion on sight. Give her at least five minutes."

Their father's dry response followed "I'll put fifty on him making her cry within the first conversation."