The princess, Juliette, was about to become a bride.

She sat uncomfortably on her gilded, ruby-studded throne as hundreds of proudly dressed royals flaunted themselves in desperate attempts to win her hand.  There were young, ballet-dancing heirs with perfect poise and sword-throwing soldiers with broad shoulders and impressive steel armor.  There were opera singers and jugglers and storytellers and everything in between.  

Juliette, however, never once clapped for them, or even so much as cracked a smile.  It wasn’t that the suitors weren’t entertaining, for that they undoubtedly were. She was far from bored with their bold, sparkling, hilariously ludicrous performances. It was simply that none of them really caught her eye the way they were meant to.

The truth was, Juliette didn’t want to marry, and she didn’t want to fall in love. Even the thought of such a horrid event taking place was enough to paint a bitter frown across her fair face.

But of course, she couldn’t say that. Not to the suitors, and certainly not to her parents. As the eldest of four daughters and the princess of a relatively small kingdom, it was her responsibility—no, the expectation—to make a good name for the family and marry a nice, preferably powerful, royal. Her father had at least given her a choice as to who it was exactly, which she knew was more than most princesses got. She was grateful for that. Only, she just wasn’t sure what would happen if she chose “no”.