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On my twentieth birthday, my fiancé, Oliver Patel returned victorious from war. Before the king, he knelt and pleaded, "Your Majesty, grant me a marriage. Wendy Bennett once saved my life—please let me repay her." Hidden behind a pillar, I froze. Oliver and I were childhood sweetheart. My heart had long belonged to him, and my father, the king, had already betrothed me to him. For six long years under everyone's increasingly mocking eyes, I waited—letting him fight for our kingdom, to chase glory, believing he would come back for me. But when he finally did, it was to beg for another woman's hand. In that moment, something inside me went cold. I asked father to grant Oliver's wish. Then, I accepted the proposal of Lord Noah Hughes, who'd asked for my hand. On the day Oliver went to fetch his bride, I set out for my own wedding. Our carriages passed each other on the road, never to cross paths again in this lifetime.