I Escaped My Arranged Marriage With My Forbidden Bodyguard

The drone of polite conversation was a physical weight, pressing down on me from all sides. Laughter, thin and brittle as spun sugar, echoed off the vaulted ceilings of the Great Hall, mingling with the clinking of crystal and the scent of roasted pheasant and cloying perfume. I forced another smile, my lips aching from the effort, as Duke Alistair recounted some tedious story about a hunting trip. The jewels woven into my hair pulled at my scalp, and the boning of my gown dug into my ribs with every shallow breath. It was a beautiful prison of silk and gold, and I was its most prized captive.

My gaze slid past the Duke’s florid face, past the sea of bobbing heads and preening nobles, searching for the only point of stillness in the entire room.

And there he was.

Kael stood near the arched doorway, his back straight as a spear shaft, his presence a silent rebuke to the decadent chaos surrounding us. He wore the stark black and silver livery of the Royal Guard, but on him, it was not a uniform so much as a second skin. It fit perfectly across the broad expanse of his shoulders and chest, the dark fabric doing little to conceal the hard muscle beneath. His hands were clasped loosely behind his back, but I knew from watching him train in the yard that they were calloused and capable, able to wield a sword with deadly grace.

While the courtiers postured and flattered, their eyes darting about for opportunity, Kael’s attention was fixed, unwavering. His gaze swept the room in a slow, methodical pattern, missing nothing. It was a look of pure, undiluted focus. He wasn’t here to enjoy the festivities; he was here to watch for threats. He was here for me. His jaw was a hard, uncompromising line, and his dark hair was cut short, practical. He was all sharp angles and solid strength, a stark contrast to the soft, overfed men who vied for my attention.

A young baron with pimples on his chin tried to catch my eye, and I gave him a weak, dismissive nod before looking back to Kael. He was my constant, the one person whose presence was not a performance. He never spoke unless required, his silence a comfortable shield I could hide behind. In a world of shifting allegiances and whispered lies, his duty was an absolute. He was a stone wall against a rising tide of expectation. My eyes traced the line of his throat where it disappeared into the high collar of his tunic, and for a disorienting moment, I wondered what it would be like to have that singular focus directed at me for a reason other than duty. To be seen by him, not as a princess to be protected, but simply as a woman. The thought was a dangerous spark in the suffocating darkness of my life.

The thought was a dangerous spark in the suffocating darkness of my life, and just as quickly as it ignited, it was extinguished.

A sharp ting from the head of the hall cut through the noise. My father, King Theron, stood, tapping his silver goblet with a knife. The room fell into a sudden, expectant silence. His voice, accustomed to command, boomed across the hall without effort.

"My lords, my ladies, esteemed guests. For generations, the kingdoms of Lyria and Eldoria have known only suspicion and strife. We have stood on the precipice of war for too long, our borders shadowed by the threat of bloodshed." He paused, letting the weight of his words settle. My stomach twisted into a cold, hard knot. I knew what was coming. "To secure a future of peace and prosperity for our people, to bind our great nations in an unbreakable alliance, I am proud to announce the betrothal of my daughter, Princess Anya, to the noble Prince Valerius of Eldoria."

A wave of polite, enthusiastic applause washed over the hall. It felt like drowning. I kept the placid smile fixed on my face, a carefully constructed mask, while inside I was screaming. My gaze shot back to Kael, a desperate, silent plea. His expression had not changed. His jaw was set, his eyes still scanning the crowd. He was a statue of duty, unmoved. He had heard my life sentence being read, and it meant nothing more to him than a change in the political climate. The last flicker of warmth inside me died.

Later, in the suffocating quiet of my father's private study, the mask crumbled.

"You cannot do this," I said, my voice shaking with a fury I could barely contain. "You sold me. For a treaty."

My father didn't even look up from the map he was studying on his great oak desk. "I secured the future of this kingdom. It is a future you will one day rule, and you will do so in peace because of the sacrifice we are making now."

"'We' are making?" I scoffed, the sound harsh in the still room. "I am the one being shipped off to a man I've never met, a man from a kingdom that has been our enemy for a century! This isn't a sacrifice, it's a surrender. You are using me as a pawn."

He finally looked at me, his eyes cold and weary. "You are a princess, Anya. Your life has never been your own. It belongs to the crown. To the people. Thousands of boys will not have to die on Eldorian spears because of this marriage. Mothers will not have to bury their sons. Is your personal happiness worth more than their lives?"

"My happiness doesn't even seem to be part of the equation!" I shot back, my hands clenched into fists at my sides. "What if he is cruel? What if he is a monster?"

"He is the prince of our strongest rival, and he will be your husband," my father said, his tone final, leaving no room for argument. "This is your duty. It is a greater purpose than your fleeting desires. You will learn to accept it." He turned back to his maps, dismissing me as easily as he would a servant. The conversation was over. I was a piece on his board, and he had just made his move.

I turned and walked away, not waiting for another dismissal. My steps were wooden, my body numb, each footfall on the cold stone floor a dull thud that echoed the hollowness inside me. I felt his presence behind me before I saw his shadow join mine on the wall. Kael. Of course. He followed me from my father’s study, his soft-soled boots making almost no sound, a silent guardian trailing my despair. I didn’t look at him. I couldn’t bear to see the impassive mask of duty on his face right now.

I didn’t go back to my chambers. The thought of the gilded cage, with its silks and velvets, was suffocating. Instead, I took the winding staircase down to the west wing, to the one place in this entire castle that felt like a sanctuary. I pushed open the heavy oak doors to the library, and the scent of aging paper and dry leather enveloped me like a familiar embrace.

Here, moonlight streamed through the tall, arched windows, illuminating swirling motes of dust. The shelves stretched up into the darkness, towering columns of knowledge and forgotten stories. This was my refuge, the only place I felt I could breathe. I moved between the towering stacks, my fingers trailing along the spines of books, the leather cool and smooth beneath my touch.

I was looking for something specific. A map. An atlas. Something that would make Eldoria more than just a name that spelled out my doom. I wanted to see the shape of the cage being built for me. I searched the geography section, my eyes scanning the faded gold lettering on the spines, but found nothing. My frustration mounted, a bitter taste in my mouth. Even here, I was powerless, unable to find the simplest thing.

A faint sound behind me made me start. Kael had moved from his post by the door. He walked past me, his steps measured and silent, his large frame navigating the narrow aisle with an unexpected grace. He stopped a few feet away, his back to me, and tilted his head, scanning the highest shelves that were lost in shadow.

“It’s on the top shelf,” he said.

His voice was low, deeper than I had imagined, with a slight roughness to it as if he rarely used it. The sound of it, so unexpected after his long stretches of silence, sent a strange shiver through me. He didn’t wait for my reply. He gripped the sides of a tall, rolling ladder and pushed it into place with quiet efficiency. He climbed the rungs, his movements sure and economical. The black fabric of his uniform stretched taut across his back and thighs, outlining the powerful muscles beneath. He reached the top, his hand closing around the spine of a massive, leather-bound volume.

He descended as smoothly as he had gone up and stood before me. He held the book out. It was an old atlas, the cover worn, its title, The Northern Territories and the Eldorian Marches, barely legible. I reached for it, my fingers trembling slightly. As I took the heavy book from him, my hand brushed against his. His skin was warm and calloused, a startling, solid reality. My eyes shot up to his face. For a fraction of a second, his gaze met mine, and there was something in it beyond the blank watchfulness I was used to. It was a flicker of awareness, of acknowledgement. Then it was gone. He gave a short, formal nod, and retreated to his post by the door, his professional mask sliding perfectly back into place. But the air between us had changed. A tiny, hairline crack had appeared in the stone wall of his duty.