The morning of the wedding dawned blood-red.

I watched the sunrise through my veil, its crimson hue casting eerie shadows across the marble floors of the dressing chamber. A silent omen. Even nature seemed to know today wasn’t about love.

It was about war wrapped in lace.

Camila was already waiting for me when I entered the inner sanctum. Her eyes swept over my gown — a custom creation, white silk laced with silver embroidery, the corset stitched so tightly it felt like armor.

“Don’t cry,” she said flatly. “Smudged eyeliner ruins the photos.”

“I’m not crying,” I muttered, adjusting my veil. “I’m bracing for battle.”

She smirked. “That’s my...