Ian frowned. “Your not much to lose. I have my reasons.” He followed Eliza to the side of the ballroom, his attention briefly caught by the intricate details on the walls. But soon, his gaze shifted back to her, his tone turning distant. “And those reasons… are none of your concern. For now.”

His eyes wandered across the ballroom, never settling in one place. The silence hung between them like a weight, and Ian shifted uncomfortably. In the distance, he noticed Eliza’s father and his own in deep conversation, no doubt discussing matters of the kingdom. His father gave him a small wave, beckoning him over.

“If you’ll excuse me,” Ian said, bowing toward Eliza before quickly pulling away from the crowd.

“You were supposed to bring Eliza with you,” his father said, his voice edged with frustration. “Anyway, we were just discussing your coronation. We’ve decided it should be held back at your kingdom.”

The words “your kingdom” hit Ian like a cold shock, and he struggled to steady himself. “Y-yes, Father,” he stammered, quickly composing himself.

“Good. Now go rescue your soon-to-be bride.” His father gestured to where Eliza stood, surrounded by a small group of young men.

Great. Can’t she rescue herself? Ian thought, feeling the frustration bubble up. But with a sigh, he turned and made his way back toward her.

He approached the group with quiet authority. “Gentlemen,” he said, “if you’ll excuse me, I must take Princess Eliza back to the dining room. I hear dessert is about to be served.”

As the young men quickly dispersed, Ian turned to Eliza, gently grabbing her arm. He said nothing, simply waiting for her to say something about how she could’ve handled the situation herself, or some other ridiculous remark.

"Don’t lose your cover," he said, his tone sharp and unsatisfied with Eliza’s response of being 'rescued.' His voice carried an edge, but even as the words left his lips, he couldn’t entirely mask the growing frustration within him. "The Coronation is to take place at my kingdom," he continued, his voice trailing off as he felt the weight of responsibility settle over him, like an oppressive cloak. He had tried to maintain the authority in his tone, but he could sense the power slipping, fading bit by bit, like sand through his fingers.

His eyes narrowed, his lips twisting into a half-smile, and he briefly looked her up and down before speaking again. "I don’t suppose you'd like the idea of spending the rest of your life in my castle?" The words were a tease, but there was an undercurrent of something more—something that Eliza could perhaps decipher, or perhaps not.

For a moment, his expression softened, the teasing faded, and the weight of seriousness returned. "Now, don’t cause trouble," he warned, his voice taking on a more commanding tone. He turned his back on her as he began to walk away, but then, almost as an afterthought, he paused and glanced over his shoulder. "And stop teasing the young lads. It’s painful to watch," he said with a soft sigh, shaking his head, before he disappeared from her view entirely.

Every second away from Eliza felt like a breath of fresh air. The tension that had accompanied their interactions, the way her presence seemed to throw him off balance, made his departure feel like a small relief—one he didn’t quite want to admit. It was easier to be alone, to feel in control again, even if just for a little while.

Realised they most likely didn't have shops in medieval times for weddings but maybe xD

-

Ian walked back out to the hall, the noise and movement of people swirling around him. Everywhere he looked, there were clusters of guests chatting, laughing, and dancing, all oblivious to the storm brewing inside him. His eyes darted across the room, scanning faces, searching for Eliza. "Where did she go?" he muttered under his breath, frustration creeping into his voice.

Just then, their mothers appeared, striding toward him with a certain swing in their step, their faces glowing with an infectious energy. Ian couldn't help but raise an eyebrow in suspicion. “What are you two so happy about?” he asked, his voice tinged with disbelief, as he studied their eager expressions.

“We managed to convince your father to change the wedding date,” his mother said, her smile widening as she spoke. “It’s now in three weeks.”

Ian froze for a moment, processing the words. A week less didn’t sound like much to anyone else, but to him, it felt like an eternity. When it was the difference between holding onto the last threads of freedom and being bound forever, it was a big deal. “Th… th… three weeks?” he stammered, his voice faltering as panic seeped into his thoughts. He tried to regain control, but it was hard with the weight of the new timeline pressing down on him.

“Yep,” his mother said, grinning like a Cheshire cat. “Three weeks. So go find your lovely bride-to-be and tell her the glorious news!” She threw her hands up, almost as if dismissing him from the conversation.

Ian’s blood boiled. He wasn’t a puppet for his mother’s strings. “I go when I like,” he retorted sharply, stepping forward and trying to assert himself, though the battle to keep his composure was evident in his rigid stance. His eyes locked onto hers, not willing to back down from this silent battle of wills. He glared at her for what felt like an eternity—though it was only a mere ten seconds—before, with an exasperated sigh, he turned and stormed toward the door that led outside.

He paused just before stepping out, glancing back to make sure no one was watching. His heart raced, and for a brief moment, he wondered if anyone could sense his agitation. Without a second thought, he slipped through the door, shutting it behind him with a quiet click. The fresh air hit him like a wave, the cool breeze washing over his face and easing the tension that had built up in his chest. It felt like a moment of freedom, a brief escape from the pressure.

As he stepped further into the garden, his gaze swept over the lush greenery. His eyes landed on Eliza standing by a towering oak tree, her figure outlined against the sky. He smiled to himself, the tension in his shoulders easing slightly as he moved toward her, the sound of his footsteps muffled on the grass.

With a mischievous grin, he snuck up behind her, his voice booming as he attempted to mimic her father’s deep, authoritative tone. “Nice and peaceful out here, isn’t it?”

"Yeah, he doesn’t sound anything like that,” he joked. “But anyway, the wedding’s in three weeks now, and if we don’t stop our mothers, they’ll probably get it down to two.” He gazed up the oak tree, its mighty branches swaying freely in the wind, unbound and unrestricted.

For a brief moment, he felt the weight of the world lift off his shoulders. The oak tree, standing tall and proud, reminded him of the very thing he longed for: freedom. He sighed, staring at its mighty branches as they danced with the wind, knowing that time was slipping away, and soon they would both be caught in the whirlwind of everything that was about to change.

Its getting sooo good!)

Ian shifted uncomfortably in front of Eliza, feeling the familiar knots of anxiety tighten in his stomach. Talking to young women had never come easily to him, but now, facing his soon-to-be bride, who was visibly upset, made the situation even more difficult. He could sense her distress, the frustration in her eyes, and it made him uneasy in a way he couldn’t quite explain. “Slow down,” Ian said, trying to steady his nerves. He leaned back against the tree, aiming to find some support, but misjudged the distance. He stumbled backward and hit the ground with a soft thud.

Quickly, Ian scrambled to his feet, brushing the dirt off his pants, his face turning a little redder from embarrassment. “Look,” he began, clearing his throat as he finally composed himself. “I didn’t think this whole pretending thing was going to last very long, in fact, I’m surprised you’ve lasted this long,” he paused, hoping the words didn’t sound as harsh as he felt they might. His eyes met hers briefly, and he felt the weight of what he was about to say.

He continued, his voice a little more measured. “This will hopefully be the only major event until the wedding, so we won’t have to pretend anymore.” As the words left his mouth, Ian stopped mid-sentence, feeling a shift inside him. He wasn’t supposed to care. He wasn’t supposed to feel any attachment to her, not in the way that others might. But seeing her like this—hurt, vulnerable—stirred something inside him that he couldn’t quite shake. He wasn’t falling for her, no. But there was a part of him that ached for her in a way he hadn’t expected.

He sighed, regretting the way his words had come out. He didn’t want to hurt her further. “I really don’t care about your problems,” he said, his voice flat, but there was an edge to it now, a flicker of something deeper. “But I hate seeing you miserable.”

There. He’d said it. The words felt strange to him, like he was saying something he hadn’t fully processed himself. For a moment, the air between them thickened, the tension hanging in the space like a storm waiting to break. Ian shifted on his feet, unsure whether to continue. His gaze softened a little, but the vulnerability caught him off guard. “I mean, marriage can’t be that bad, right?” he said, the words coming out with a slight chuckle, though the humor didn’t reach his eyes. Instantly, he regretted it. It was too casual, too dismissive of the reality they both faced.

He wanted to take it back, but the damage was already done. Eliza was still standing there, her face unreadable. Ian couldn’t help but wonder what she was thinking, what she felt in this moment. She had every right to be angry or hurt, but he wasn’t sure if he could fix this. He wasn’t sure if he even knew how to try, "Lets just go back inside, finish the evening off and forget we tried" he said starting to walk to the house. It took one day for his whole entire life to be turned upside. One day. Not enough time to process.