Crownbound: The Unchosen Bride

Allysa sat frozen. Her beautiful eyes wandered, fixed on the tall, athletic figure standing across the room—strong, broad-shouldered, commanding. Just a day before her wedding, one of her neighbors had said how lucky she was to marry a prince with the gaze of an eagle and an aura that drew everyone in. But in truth, she was not so fortunate.

Two months into the marriage, her husband had never once touched her. Even at the royal dinner with envoys from the Kingdom of Andesha, he had chosen to keep his distance, leaving her to sit alone like a shadow.

Tears welled in Allysa’s eyes. Zagara could be so warm and engaging when speaking with their guests—why not with her? His eyes, always sharp, bore into her with cold indifference. His tone was often curt, his manner distant. He rarely spoke to her. She had been placed in a small palace near the royal gardens, while the Prince remained in his own residence. In Andromedha, royal members lived in separate small palaces—yet tradition dictated that a married couple should share one roof.

Allysa knew theirs was a political marriage—a mere symbol of peace between Andromedha and Deimos. A loveless union. And she knew that someone else already occupied the throne in Zagara’s heart, long before she ever stepped into his world.

At twenty-two, Allysa had never known what it felt like to fall in love. Her days had been filled with lessons in literature, archery, horseback riding, and cooking. Zagara was the first man ever to enter her life. She wasn’t sure if this was love or just longing—but what she did know was that she didn’t want hate to grow between them. She didn’t want to remain a stranger to her own husband.

The music swelled and echoed in the hall, but Allysa no longer heard it. Her heart sank further as she watched her husband openly dance with a woman from the Kingdom of Andesha. Zagara looked delighted, his smile genuine as he laughed and spoke with the beautiful guest—her long lashes and curly hair glowing under the light.

Allysa couldn’t help but shrink inside. She wasn’t as beautiful as the other women. Not as beautiful as her two older sisters, who had once been the talk of many kingdoms. Princes had competed for their hearts. During royal visits, it was always them who were asked if they were married. Now both sisters were—Aneira, the eldest, had given birth to a pair of charming twins, while Aletta, the second, was expecting her first child.

Allysa had never once been courted. In the end, she became the one left behind—the final daughter offered in a marriage meant to end a long-standing feud.

Behind her, she caught the whispers of two guests.

“Isn’t Prince Zagara married? Why is he dancing with Princess Nathania?”

“I heard his wife isn’t very pretty. Too quiet. That’s why he doesn’t love her. It was a forced marriage, they say.”

Allysa sat frozen. Tears threatened to spill. She lifted her gaze toward Zagara once more, only to find him staring back. His eyes bore into her with their usual coldness. A faint, mocking smile played on his lips—as if he enjoyed watching her pain.

Quietly, Allysa rose and left the celebration, her steps light but heavy with sorrow. The garden shadows welcomed her return to the lonely palace she called home. She had no friends here, no one to confide in. Only Charlotte, her handmaid, kept her company in that quiet place.

Her footsteps fell soft upon the stone floor. A single tear slipped down her cheek.

❋❋❋

She had just changed and was about to close her eyes when a sudden knock startled her.

“Princess Allysa ,” came the familiar voice.

“Yes, come in.”

Charlotte entered, her expression more serious than usual. There was a trace of worry on her face.

“Princess Allysa, the Prince wishes to see you.”

Before Charlotte could leave, Zagara stepped into the room.

Charlotte quickly bowed and slipped out, closing the door gently behind her.

Allysa rose, pulling off the covers, steadying herself though her heart beat faster with each breath.

They faced each other—gazes locked with different meanings. Zagara’s sharp eyes had always been admired by others, but for Allysa, they were a weapon. They carried hate, disappointment, anger… or something even darker.

She stood still, emotionless, trying to calm the storm within her. She looked down, one hand brushing over the other—a silent gesture of self-comfort.

Zagara’s eyes narrowed, scrutinizing her. It was the first time he saw her in such delicate nightwear. Her chestnut hair flowed freely, soft and graceful. But to him, she was still a stranger. Nothing about her was alluring.

“Why did you leave the banquet early? Seeking attention? Trying to disgrace me in front of them? Making people think I mistreat you?”

His words were sharp, each one a cut to the heart.

Allysa frowned, confused and hurt. How could he accuse her of something like that?

“What do you mean? I left because I wanted to.”

Zagara stepped closer. Allysa instinctively stepped back. His cold smile deepened.

“You shouldn’t have left. It was disrespectful to the guests. My father even scolded me, saying your absence was my fault. Are you trying to play the victim now?”

The lines of his face were sharp and defined, carved with authority and silent power — the kind of face that could pull anyone into its gravity.

To Allysa, Zagara was a dream, the kind one could only touch in the fragile mist of a waking illusion.

“Play the victim? Why would I do that?” Her voice was firmer now, breaking the silence she had long swallowed. Tonight, she dared speak louder.

Zagara scoffed. “Don’t act innocent. You know how to gain sympathy.”

“Even without me saying anything, isn’t it obvious to everyone? You don’t love me. You live in a separate palace. That answers every rumor ever whispered.”

Zagara didn’t like her tone. Perhaps he had misjudged her. She wasn’t as meek as he thought.

Suddenly, he grabbed her wrist, making her wince.

“If you know I never loved you, then why do you stay?” Zagara’s voice was low, his gaze sharp as he closed the distance between them.

He could’ve gone further—he could’ve torn her nightdress apart, claimed every inch of what was rightfully his. He could’ve taught her that her purity meant nothing under his command.

But he didn’t.

He was too proud to surrender to the ache of curiosity, too proud to steal what his heart refused to claim. He wouldn’t touch a woman he did not love.

Allysa tried to pull her hand away from his grasp, but his hold was too strong.

She looked up at Zagara—her gaze no longer timid, but steady, laced with quiet sorrow that shimmered in her eyes.

“Our marriage is the path to peace. Would you destroy that?”

Zagara was silent. Perhaps it was the first time she’d ever spoken with such resolve.

“There are many hearts and lives resting on this,” she continued softly.

“And you would sacrifice your happiness? Living with a man who doesn’t love you? Don’t you want to find love for yourself?”

Allysa paused, then replied with a faint smile of sorrow.

"Happiness? What does that even mean? Since I was little, I never dared to hope for love. I buried that hope a long time ago—maybe because I thought I was never meant to be loved."

Her emerald eyes shimmered, but she refused to let a single tear fall.

She wouldn’t let her defenses crumble—not after all the years she spent building herself back up.

Not just because Zagara couldn’t find it in himself to accept her.

Zagara said nothing. He saw it now—clearly. There was a wound hidden in Allysa’s sorrowful gaze.

She stood a little straighter, trying to hold on to the last pieces of herself.

She had always known she was the unwanted daughter. A stranger in her own home.

Her parents had praised her sisters for their beauty, their strength, their talents. But her? She had always been the one who wasn’t enough.

Even a minister’s son once called her the ugliest princess in Deimos.

Zagara loosened his grip the moment a single tear escaped the corner of Allysa’s eye. He didn’t wish to linger any longer. Quietly, he stepped back and left her room without another word.

Allysa sat down, and the tears she had held back began to fall freely.

Being unwanted by her own family—that wound had never really healed. And now, her husband didn’t want her either.

No matter how hard she tried to bury her hopes of love, she was still human. Still capable of longing.

Sometimes, all she wished for was to borrow Zagara’s shoulder, just for a moment. Just to lean on.

But deep down, she knew—she was no one to him.