Your eyes are steady and determined as you meet your gaze in the mirror. Your chambermaids are bustling around you. One is applying rose-coloured blush on your cheek, another is dabbing lavender ointment behind your ear. The third is braiding your hair. You don 't say a word as they work on making you presentable.

You feel the steady pressure of the corset, the weight of your hefty skirts, the way your skin feels tight under the layer of chalky make-up. Despite this, not a muscle on your face moves to make your discomfort known.

When you 're ready, you get up on your steady feet. Your mother, who has been sitting in the corner quietly, raises as well and excuses the maids. Her oval-shaped, worried eyes meet yours and then slide down to look over you.

You 're dressed in a traditional, conservative dress made of heavy satin. The blue and bronze-coloured fabrics match the rest of your chambers. The curtains, sheets and walls are all a brilliant, deep blue colour whereas the wooden floor and furniture all share a warm brown tint to them.

The whole castle shares this colour scheme as it 's the colours of your flag and the colours your Creator Himself has bestowed you with. Blue and bronze, His sacred combination.

You know this is the last time you will ever find solace in the familiar hues of cold blue and cosy brown, the worried eyes of your mother, the gentle touch of your chambermaids. For today, you 're set to travel far away.

Your eyes land on the small, bronze necklace hanging from your mother 's delicate neck. Your eyes slide over the square plate, the four blue jewels in each corner and the proud-looking stag carved in the middle.

You miss the weight of that necklace on your own neck. For centuries and centuries, members of your family have worn those necklaces to signal their dedication to the Creator, who was once believed to traverse this Earth in the form of a large deer.

Your bare neck obviously greatly distresses your mother. Her eyes fill with tears and she rushes to you to hug you tightly.

'Oh, Cora, ' she breathes into your shoulder. 'My one and only Cora, ' she wails desperately. The news of your departure hit her harder than it hit you. But you can 't blame her, you 're her only child.

Despite being the King 's fifth wife, it is well known that of his wives he is the least fond of your mother. He only seeded one child with her, you, and has since all but completely neglected his union with her. You grew up listening to hushed whispers and rumours about your mother, how the reason the King much prefers his four other wives is her horrible performance in bed, her lacklustre figure or the disappointment of having yet another daughter.

Your father, King Olaf Reader, has had a rather unfortunate track record with his offspring. His first-born was a son, but after that, the rest of his fourteen children have all been girls. As the youngest daughter from the least favoured wife, you are rumoured to be the final nail in the coffin of disappointments that made your father stop breeding for eighteen years, having only recently taken a sixth wife and impregnated her.

You won 't have time to see your younger half-sibling 's birth, due in another week, as you need to be on your way today.

And you 're not dumb enough to think that the role of sailing to the rotten, war-mongering kingdom of Varsiko to marry the devil-worshipping

czarevich

to solidify a shaky peace that 's recently been established between your nations after a century of warfare, fell on you by accident.

To the kingdom, you 're yet another daughter that needs to be married off eventually. Not only that, you 're the daughter of the least adored wife and there 's zero chance you 'll ever even see the throne, let alone sit on it.

And you know how much this peace means to your kingdom. The century of war with Varsiko has had a heavy toll on your resources. To the point where you 've decided to abandon the mission of trying to change their Creator-despising ways. To the point of sending one of their royals to marry the son of the

Czar of Varsiko

himself

.

Varsiko, your future home, is a small military state. Despite being sandwiched between East Novaryn, the part of your kingdom on the other side of Mantem River, and Mortis Sea, the Sea to which Mantem River flows, they have successfully held their own against your attacks. Not the least because they use the vast majority of their budget on military and alchemy research.

According to the sacred texts handed down by your Creator, to bond or mate with someone who embraces the wicked ways of alchemist rituals means to lose their soul with no way of reversing this grim fate. With full knowledge of this, you were appointed the bride-to-be to the youngest son of the Czar.

You 're fully aware of this, and you 've accepted your destiny. You will give your body and soul for your kingdom and wilfully hand them to the Damnation-worshipping hands of the Varsikovian royal family.

You stroke your mother 's back with an empty smile.

'Do not fret, mother. I will be fine, ' you promise and pull away from the tight embrace to show her your calm, determined eyes.

She moves her hand towards your cheek but stops midway when she realises she would only mess up your make-up. Instead, she places it on your shoulder.

'Who shall I spend my days with now? Oh, Cora, my lovely child, ' she whispers and bursts in tears anew. 'I will pray for you. I will grovel and beg for the Creator to have pity on your soul. He is wise and all-knowing, maybe He will understand- '

'Mother, ' you sigh gently. 'You know he does not take kindly to pestering. You will only risk getting struck down in His fit of anger. '

Your mother hugs you again.

'Promise me you will try not to breed with him. Do not let our blood mix with their kind, Cora. They are animals. '

You nod wordlessly. You 'll do your best even though you know it 'll be in vain. Sooner or later, the czarevich is bound to want to lay with his wife, especially since their relationships are strictly monogamous.

A maid knocks on the door and tells you the carriage has arrived and is ready to escort you to the harbour. From there, you 're set to take a boat across the Mantem River to the seaside city of Rekanon, the heavily guarded capital of Varsiko.

As you descend the marble stairs, from the solace of your chambers, down to the maze-like corridors of the castle, you look around as much as you can to keep the memories fresh.

The bronze-coloured armours lined up along the hallways by the blue, long carpets covering the floors. The painted glass windows, most depicting religious imagery of the Creator. The heavy wooden doors leading to the kitchen, the dining hall, the servants ' wing, to your siblings ' and parents ' quarters and countless other places, some of which you never deemed important enough to visit.

The conservatively dressed maids and servant boys who stop and bow as you pass by, the patrolling guards who take out their swords and kneel for you when you walk past them, the absent-minded priests who give you long, pitying looks and touch their forehead and chest with the palms of their hands, a gesture of prayer.

You walk down the large staircase to the entrance hall. By the door, you spot a familiar man. As you recognise the brown silk outfit of tight-fitting pants and neatly tailored jacket, complete with leather boots and elbow-length gloves, a relieved smile spreads on your features.

You were afraid no one aside from your mother would see you off.

'Sirius, ' you breathe. Your one and only brother, the crown prince of Novaryn, hurries to hug you.

Out of all your siblings, you always got along the best with your older brother. He was always nice to everyone and sympathised with your difficult situation inside the castle. Then again, he could afford to not harbour ill will towards you. As the oldest child and only son, he is the apple of your father 's eye and the golden child of the whole kingdom.

Your sisters, on the other hand, always had to compete in order to have their father as much as glance their way.

As you hug, a flood of memories returns to you. Of Sirius hoisting you on his horse and walking you around when you were just a little squirt. Of him coming to your room every Wednesday with a candied apple and a new book to read you when you couldn 't read yet yourself. Of him talking your father into sending you a short letter of congratulations when you turned sixteen and thus became of age.

It 's hard to keep your face neutral and prevent your eyes from glistening with tears as you remember the small, warm moments that made this castle feel like home.

'I 'm sorry, Cora. I tried to talk some sense into him but he wouldn 't budge. He cares more about ending this war than he does about his daughter 's soul. '

Sirius looks heartbroken as he pulls back. You offer him the same, hollow smile as you did your mother.

'Do not worry, brother. I will fare just fine, ' you promise him. 'My soul is a cheap price to pay for stifling this war. Given how I have read one too many of those scandalous love novels father tried very hard to outlaw, ' you chuckle. This marriage may rid you of your soul, but your love for reading is one thing no one can take from you. You just hope the Rekanon Castle has a killer library.

You raise your skirts and step out to the sunny, kempt courtyard.

You look at the diligently cropped grass fields, stone tables and chairs under parasols, where you used to have your afternoon tea. Then, you look at the carriage that 's waiting for you. Pulled by two pearl-white

Augeron

horses and manned by the driver as well as two guards, it 's nothing fancy. The less attention you pull to yourself as you travel through Novaryn, the better.

Your sparse belongings are packed in a single suitcase. A freckled maid packs them in and then stands aside with a curtsey.

You turn to give your mother and brother one last hug. Your mother looks utterly heartbroken and there 's no stopping her sobs. Sirius, while composed, looks equally worried.

'Promise to write, ' he reassures. You nod. He cups your cheek. Unlike your mother, he cares not about the make-up.

'Soul or not, you are still my little sister. Never forget that, ' he tells you gently. Your smile is filled with gratitude.

'And even as a soulless, astray child of Damnation, you are still my big brother, ' you tell him. He grins a little.

You disentangle yourself from your mother 's clingy arms and allow one of the guards to help you inside the carriage.

As the horses start pulling you towards the harbour, you dare not look back.

-

The air in this country is different. Novaryn smells earthy and fresh. It 's warm, sunny, engulfed in light and nature with deep, ancient forests and churches older than the nation itself.

The second you step out of the ship to the wooden dock, you 're met with the pungent smell of metal. You glance at the grey and red flag flapping in one of the masts, and immediately feel colder.

Many of the locals stop to gawk at you, a foreign lady in Novaryn 's colours, and you could swear the grey-suited guards who are there to pick you up give you unfriendly little glares.

You step into a carriage that 's pulled by two sturdy Mongol horses. Not a word is uttered as you traverse through the industrial city. All around, you see buildings made of tile and metal rather than stone and wood, like you 're used to in Novaryn. Thanks to constant raids and ransacking by Novaryn for the last century, all of the architecture here is new. There are no buildings that look older than a decade.

Most people you see on the street are wearing military uniforms. You studied Varsiko meticulously before your arrival, so you know that the vast majority of their citizens either work for the army or as gunsmiths. Varsiko is, thanks to Novaryn, a very militarised nation. A monarchy on paper, yet the

de facto

leader is whoever sits at the helm of the military. The royal family mostly functions as a symbol.

Thus, you don 't expect to be too involved in politics.

The Rekanon Castle is large and compared to the ancient, stone building you grew up in, it looks hollower. Rather than made of stone with multiple, liberally situated towers here and there and a large, green yard, the Rekanon Castle looks much more like a fortress. Made of grey bricks with a red, flat roof and two symmetrical, sturdy-looking watchtowers on each side, you immediately doubt you 'll feel much at home here.

The front yard has no garden or spots for sitting and soaking in the sun. Save for an aggressively cropped lawn and a single pathway going through it, there 's nothing of note outside.

No one 's arrived to receive you. You 're not too surprised. The two guards take your suitcase and escort you through the yard to the castle. The second you open the door to the main hall, you notice that the whole building is absurdly grey. The walls and floors are both dull stone, and the only thing bringing some life to the aesthetic is the crimson red carpets rolled over the floors.

You see a few servants walk in a corridor further away, a passing maid in a grey dress stops to give you a stunned blink before curtseying reluctantly and hurrying past you to a long, empty corridor that looks to be leading to the kitchen. Armed guards are standing on each side of the door with their eyes pointed forward, and they don 't as much as glance at you.

The guards you arrived with walk you through the hollow corridors. You note that the windows here are clear, see-through glass with no paintings, and the dull-coloured wooden doors are all closed. After walking through what feels like the whole castle, you stop at one of the doors, situated in the farthest end of the west wing.

'You will have dinner with your fianc ' and the rest of the royal family in a round's time. I recommend changing out of

that

, ' the guard gives your blue and bronze dress a look oozing of poorly concealed disgust, 'beforehand. Your appointed guard will pick you up and escort you. '

You nod, not one to start talking back first thing. Attending dinner in your country 's colours might be seen as rebellious and too patriotic.

You open the door and walk inside. The guard walks in, sets your suitcase down by the door and quickly excuses himself. He 's obviously not too eager to stay close to you.

You look around the spacious room you 're to call home from now on. Like the rest of the castle, the walls and floors are the same shade of uninspiring grey. The curtains, carpets and sheets on the bed are warm saffron red, and there are a couple of tapestries on the walls. One depicts Varsiko 's flag, the grey background with a red arsenic symbol.

The other is fine white cotton and has the image of a cloaked figure stitched on it. The figure is kneeling before a wall with a large circle chalked on it. Leaning against the wall, in the middle of the circle, is a naked boy with a cross drawn on his chest.

It 's a depiction of an alchemy ritual. A practice your Creator has explicitly forbidden.

A fianc 'e to one of these deviants or not, about to lose your soul or not, you conclude you don 't have to stand for these images in your own bedroom. Thus, you take down the tapestry, roll it and chuck it under the wide and luxurious bed.

Next to the bed is a mahogany bedside table. On the table, a gas lamp, a hand mirror and a handkerchief are placed for your use. Before the large window pointing west, there is a wooden desk with a quill pencil and parchment papers. Against the wall next to the bed stands a white vanity and a matching wardrobe. You peek inside the drawers just to confirm that the wardrobe is filled with clothes suitable for a woman your age and stature.

The bookshelf stands empty next to a door leading out to a small private balcony. You make a mental note to fix this as soon as possible.

You make a brief visit outside just to admire the setting sun and apricot sky for a moment. You had requested your quarters to have windows and balcony facing west, as you rather enjoy sunsets. The backyard below you, however, is just as uninteresting as the front yard. The grass is short with a single, tiled road splitting through it. Tall stone walls circle the area, giving it a prison-like quality. There are a couple of flowerbeds, however, as well as a few benches and a cricket pitch. Further away are the stables, and you can see some horses pasturing outside.

In the bathroom, the first thing that catches your eye is the large bathtub, next to a water pump. The toilet and sink, as well as the bathtub, are fully sanitary and connected to a water pump and a sewer system, a sight uncommon in Novaryn. You look over the porcelain commodities for a moment but soon lose interest.

Just as you 're beginning to wonder if you 're supposed to get changed on your own, there 's a knock on the door and an older maid briskly walks in. Skin tanned and wrinkly from a lifetime of manual labour and her greying, thin hair combed up on a tight bun, she looks very stern. Her grey cotton dress swishes as she unceremoniously marches to the wardrobe and takes out a black evening gown. She then turns to you expectantly.

'I 'm supposed to make you presentable for dinner, Miss, ' she says. Her voice is curt and not very friendly. It seems like everyone here has an attitude towards you. Not that you 're shocked by this, there is the whole century of warfare -thing.

You nod and turn your back. You feel the maid start pulling the strings at the back of your outfit loose.

'I am the maid in charge of looking after you. Should you ever need anything, call for Maid Springer, ' she tells you, though she very much sounds like it 's out of pure obligation rather than a genuine desire to look after you.

Your dress falls to your feet and you step out of it. She grabs the blue and bronze clothing and folds it expertly before putting it in the wardrobe. The black gown is pulled on next, and her fingers are very nimble as she fastens it.

She then slips on a pair of silver earrings and a diamond necklace, and you finish the outfit by pulling on a pair of silky black gloves and matching heels.

Maid Springer curtseys shortly and walks out without a word. As she opens the door, she comes face to face with someone who was just about to let himself in.

Springer pauses and blinks, a bit taken aback, and then hurries to curtsey. You notice the gesture is much deeper and more enthusiastic when directed towards this man rather than you.

'Miss is ready for dinner, Ser, ' she announces. The man waves her off and steps inside.

You pause to look at him. He 's wearing the same grey military uniform the guards from earlier were. A light grey button-up shirt, a pair of dark grey pants and a black leather belt. On his feet, he 's wearing a pair of black leather boots. The only thing that 's different compared to the guards you 've seen so far is that this one has a red cape placed on his shoulders, fastened in place with a metal pin in the shape of the arsenic symbol, the very same one that 's depicted on Varsiko 's flag. You see a sword hanging from his hips and there 's a rifle fastened over his back.

You look over the uniform in silence and then, finally, look over his face. He looks to be rather young, in his mid-to-late twenties maybe. His black hair is trimmed with a cropped hairstyle and his grey eyes are watching you with a calm yet undeniably wary and distrusting look.

You 're not concerned about his unfriendly attitude at the moment. Instead, your eyes are glued to his right hand. On the back of his hand, you can see a tattooed symbol of a triangle placed inside a circle.

You know what that symbol is.

The man notices where your eyes have stopped, and he scoffs. He raises his hand to show you the tattoo.

'Shocked? ' he asks lazily. 'Afraid your Creator will strike you down if you as much as share a space with someone augmented? '

You rip your eyes away from the tattoo and meet his eyes with your head held high.

'No. It is just the first time I see a spawn of Damnation, is all, ' you tell him with a cool tone. He snorts and leans against the wall.

'Then, I suggest you get used to it, ' he tells you bluntly. 'Plenty of us here. '

'So I have heard, unfortunately. It is always sad to see people who have rejected the ways of the Creator- '

'Spare you preach, little miss, ' the man cuts you off dryly. 'As far as your

Creator

is concerned, you 've already forsaken him by coming here with the intention of marrying the son of our Czar. '

You notice that the man doesn 't speak to you formally. He seems blatantly uninterested in addressing you as a superior. You don 't know if it 's because you 're a royal from a nation that 's for a century been his enemy, or if he 's like that with everyone.

'I assume you are the guard appointed to looking after me, ' you say.

'As much as I opposed to this, yes, ' the man replies, unimpressed. 'What a way to punish me, taking me off the field and straight to babysitting duty, ' he mutters to himself.

'The field? ' you tilt your head a little.

'I used to be in the Wing of Offence up until a few weeks ago. And as soon as they decide I 've suffered enough for my insubordination and can return to my real duties, I 'm out of here. So, don 't get too attached to me, little miss. '

'I do not think that 's a real concern, ' you reply with a roll of your eyes. You have no desire to get cosy with people in this castle, much less an augmented soldier who calls you

little miss

.

The guard starts escorting you to the dining hall. You walk quietly but every now and then, you glance at the tattoo on his hand.

Augmentation. The biggest breakthrough in modern alchemy. For as long as Varsiko has existed, they have used the ancient science of alchemy. Blending materials and metals, fortifying buildings and enhancing weapons with different spells and rituals, it 's mostly thanks to the alchemy that the military of this nation has managed to fend Novaryn off for so long.

And during the last seventy years, a considerable effort was made to find a formula for not only improving buildings and weapons but also humans. Countless people lost their lives to aggressive and purpose-oriented experimentation. You have no doubt many of those people were Novarynian.

But as a result, they found a way to merge various metals into human bodies, making them much less vulnerable. Furthermore, save for the tattoo the augmented people take for the purpose of completing the alchemy ritual, these people are indistinguishable from normal people and their bodies seem to work as normal.

To your knowledge, only a handful of people have been successfully augmented, the last of your intel assumed the amount to be in the hundreds. And your guard just happens to be one of those people.

You 're allowed inside the large dining hall. The maids are fussing around, setting up the table and the foods. You notice two guards by the door you just walked through, as well as on each side of the other two doors. None of them is wearing a cape like your guard is, and you conclude it must be a rank thing.

The mahogany table is large enough to seat thirty, but you notice it 's only been set for six people. It 's situated right next to a large, wall-length glass window facing the carefully kempt yet barren backyard. Various paintings, tapestries and coats of arms are hung over the grey walls, and a red cloth is placed over the table. So far, it 's the most ornate and colourful room you 've seen in this castle.

By the window, you see a few people standing in a circle and chattering with a low voice. The second you walk in, they all turn to look at you simultaneously.

You look over their faces. The oldest man with dark brown hair and round glasses you recognise from portraits. Czar Grisha Yeager. The symbolic head of Varsiko and the initiator of peace negotiations between your country and his. The marriage was his idea and you hear he voiced vocal opposition from both the citizens and the military.

Ultimately, however, Admiral Zackly backed up the suggestion. And here you are, as a result.

The woman next to him is beautiful, with clean, milky skin and dark, woven hair. Her luscious, red dress is tightly cinched around her narrow waist. She must be the Second Czarina, Carla Yeager.

With the royal couple are two boys and a girl. The older boy has light brown hair and he looks astonishingly much like Czar Yeager, even down to the round glasses sitting on his nose and the facial hair around his mouth. The eyes behind said glasses, however, are exceptionally cold as they land on you. His outfit is similar to the Czar 's, with a grey jacket, white button-up shirt and a pair of tight-fitting black pants. He, unlike the Czar and Czarina, is not wearing a crown.

The younger boy looks much more like the Czarina with dark, silky hair, large green eyes and a clean, fair complexion. He 's dressed more carefree than the other men, with a simple brown shirt and a pair of grey pants. Out of the bunch, he looks the least like royalty.

The last person in the group is a young woman. Short and petite with golden hair, she looks the friendliest out of the group. Her blue eyes have a gentle sheen to them, and her bronze-coloured dress instantly reminds you of home and sets you more at ease.

'Ah, ' Czar Yeager starts with a well-meaning smile. 'Cora Reader. The youngest daughter of King Olaf Reader. Royal of Novaryn. My soon-to-be daughter-in-law, ' he lists with a wide smile, your presence the culmination of his years of hard work.

'Your Grace, ' you greet and give him a formal curtsey.

'Oh, none of that please, ' he hurries to say. 'I 'm glad you got here safely and could join us for dinner. May I introduce you to my wife, Carla, ' he gestures to the Czarina, who gives you a stiff smile, clearly not sure what to make of you yet.

'My eldest son Zeke, ' he introduces the boy in glasses. He gives you the tiniest little nod. 'And this is his fianc 'e, Historia Reiss. Their wedding will be in a few months ' time. '

The blonde girl grabs your hand and squeezes it with a smile.

'Nice to meet you, ' she says, and the sound of her melodic voice makes you relax just a bit. You squeeze her hand back.

'Likewise. '

'And this, ' Grisha says ceremonially and turns to the younger boy, 'is Eren. Your fianc '. '

Your eyes meet. It 's not love at first sight. You don 't feel your stomach turning or the ground shaking under your feet. You don 't sense your heart beating faster. He 's good-looking, you suppose, but your first impression of him is on the neutral side.

You curtsey to him, and he gives you a short bow in response, but you don 't see any excessive interest in his eyes.

As you sit down at the table, one of the doors opens and in slips a girl. She 's wearing a red cape similar to your guard, and she quickly moves to stand by him. You give her a glance, but she doesn 't speak up and no one pays attention to her, so you dismiss her as one of the higher-ranking guards and turn to your food.

A slice of the roast is placed on your plate and topped with some gravy, along with some steamed peas, boiled potatoes and cherry tomatoes. You 're not hungry, but you force the fork to your lips all the same. You don 't want to seem rude.

'I hope the journey wasn 't too tiring for you, ' Czar Yeager says after a moment of silence. You finish chewing and swallow before replying.

'It was rather pleasant. The wind was behind us the whole way. '

'I see. '

'If you want to furnish your room to your liking, don 't hesitate to ask for whatever you need, ' the Czarina adds. You nod and smile that same, proper but distant smile you gave your mother and brother.

The royal couple and Historia do their best to include you in conversations, but you notice that Zeke and Eren both stay quiet and only answer with short grunts and single-word sentences.

Eren finishes his meal fast and gets on his feet. He gives you a long look and finally opens his mouth.

'When you 're done, come to my room, ' he tells you simply and strides to the door. The girl in red cape follows him quietly as he walks out of the door.

You look after him, equal parts curious and apprehensive.

'Oh my, always so blunt, ' the Czarina sighs with a small smile. 'I hope you two get along. He 's a fierce boy but try to be understanding. Underneath all that, he 's a good child, ' she tells you with warm, motherly passion. You smile.

'I 'm sure we will get along great, your grace. '

You hear Zeke scoff in his seat but ignore it.

'Actually, there is something I would like to ask, ' you suddenly realise.

'What is it? ' The Czar asks.

'I have a bookshelf in my room, but no books. If at all possible, I would like to borrow some from the library. '

The Czar chuckles.

'Books, eh? You like reading? '

'I do. '

'Me, too. A fine hobby, ' he says warmly. 'Take any books you fancy and if you find our collection lacking, do not hesitate to ask us for refurbishments. Ask Levi to take you when it suits you. '

'Levi, ' you repeat the unfamiliar name. The Czar blinks and then laughs.

'Trust our esteemed Captain not to even introduce himself. Levi Ackerman, your appointed guard, ' he explains and gestures to the man standing behind you. You turn to give him a glance, just to see him leaning against the wall behind you with a bored, blank expression. He gives you a bland stare.

Nodding, you turn back to your food.

A dozen minutes later, the Czar and Czarina have finished dining and you feel comfortable excusing yourself. With a curtsey, you leave the dining hall.

'The czarevich asked me to visit him, ' you tell Levi, who followed you out without a word.

'I heard, ' he says dully. 'Follow me then. '

He walks ahead of you and starts showing you the way to Eren 's quarters. You follow quietly and look at the arsenic symbol on the back of his cape.

He 's a military captain, the Czar said. And as per his own words, he doesn 't intend to stay here long, only until he 's allowed back in the field. You wonder what kind of augmentations he 's undergone. You wonder if he feels different, being forsaken by the Creator. You wonder if you will feel different once you 're forsaken as well.

Levi leads you to the northern wing. At the end of the hallway, there 's a door. Guarded by the girl you saw earlier, she tenses a little when she sees you. Levi nods at her and moves to stand on the other side of the door.

With a steadying breath, you knock on the door. You hear a grunt from inside, telling you to come in. You grab the brass handle and before you have time to make yourself nervous, you yank it open and walk inside.

Eren 's quarters are very different from yours. The room is much larger, with swords and guns hung all around the walls. His desk is filled with all sorts of papers and books, and you recognise a few of the titles to be war novels.

He 's ridden himself of the red curtains and carpets and instead replaced them with browns and blacks. You make a mental note to do the same for your own room. Maybe you can even get away with making your room blue and bronze.

His bed is unkempt, with the blankets and pillows carelessly thrown in a pile at the foot of the mattress. You notice that instead of crimson red, the linen is neutral white.

Eren is sitting on the couch by the window, his back resting against the armrest and his feet carelessly swinging off the side of the couch. In his hand, he has a crumpled-up parchment paper.

When he sees you, he gets on his feet and tosses the paper on top of his wardrobe. His eyes are unreadable and a little bit ominous as he approaches you.

You close the door after yourself and force yourself to face him properly. It 's your husband-to-be, you 'll need to get used to the sight of him sooner or later.

'You don 't need to be on guard. I 'm not going to do anything to you, ' he says simply. You nod.

'I did not think you would, ' you say honestly. 'You do not seem to be too interested in this engagement. '

'I hate politics, ' he announces and turns to look out of the window, of the dim yard and dark sky. 'And this union is nothing but politics. '

You nod and lean against the door a little.

'I will carry the marriage through as ordered but don 't expect romantics and sentimental displays. That 's all I wish to say to you. '

You look at his dismissive, mildly irritated expression.

'Alright, ' you say quietly. 'I 'm glad we are on the same page. I 'm doing this for my country, that is all there is to it. The less is required of me, the better. '

Eren nods and gives you a glance, this one a bit less cold than the previous ones.

'That 's all, ' he says and dismisses you. You open the door and slip outside, equal parts relieved and blue. Relieved, because you 're on the same page about the nature of your engagement. Blue, because this cements what you already know; that your fate is to forever remain in a place you may never learn to call home, surrounded by people who would prefer you not be here, bound to a person to whom you 're a nuisance.

The girl standing outside looks taken aback when you re-emerge so soon. Then, her shoulders relax and she glances at the door to Eren 's room.

Your expression is steely and calm as you start making your way back towards your quarters. The youngest daughter as you may be, you were still taught a thing or two about operating in royal circles.

Always remain calm.

Keep your cards close to your chest.

Conduct yourself with dignity.

The three things your mother spent your early years hammering into your head. And you 'll be damned if you let her down.

As you make your way back to your room, the evening turns into night. You know you should feel tired, but the unfamiliar surroundings keep you on your toes.

As you round the corner to your quarters, you realise someone 's leaning against the corridor wall waiting for you. When you see the light hair and round glasses, your neck instantly prickles on instinct.

Zeke 's arms are crossed and his eyes are cold as he looks at you. You pause in front of him.

'Your grace, ' you greet him, tone calm and neutral.

'I hope you know what you 're doing, ' Zeke responds bluntly.

'I 'm not sure I follow, ' you reply. He scoffs and straightens his posture.

'Ninety per cent of this nation is not happy you 're here, ' he tells you straightforwardly, 'the people who are sympathetic towards you or your country within this castle can be counted with one hand, and you met all of them in that dining hall. '

He walks until he 's uncomfortably close to you and stops. You stay quiet and let him speak.

'And once things go down, even your guard won 't hesitate to shoot you in the back if given the order to, ' he continues. You meet his gaze steadily.

'The peace between our nations is hanging by a thread and no one expects it to last for more than a year. And when the war breaks out again, the first thing on the list of likely outcomes is that your head goes rolling. '

He places the tip of his finger on your throat and slides across. His eyes, albeit cold and ruthless, display a hue of curiosity, intrigue even.

His eyes slide to Levi, who 's watching without a word, albeit his eyes are alert and his hand is clutching the handle of his rifle. Zeke chuckles.

'Well, it seems like at least for now, he 'll remain under orders to keep you alive. '

With that, Zeke turns and walks off. You stare after him and slump against the wall.

There 's nothing he said that you didn 't already know. It 's just a very unwelcome reminder of the reality of your situation.

You take a deep breath and enter your room. To your astonishment, Levi follows you in.

'What are you doing? ' you ask warily as Levi starts standing guard next to the door.

'Orders, ' Levi grunts. You blink.

'By whom? '

'The Czar. I was told to keep you company whenever possible. '

You roll your eyes and grab your nightgown. You walk to the bathroom to get changed in private. You freshen up while you 're there and when you walk outside, Levi 's still standing next to the door.

You open the balcony door to let in some fresh air and look over the dark, quiet backyard. Only the lanterns of patrolling guards illuminate the ground below.

You sit down on the cold stone rail and look out to the dark horizon deep in thought. When you swing your legs over the railing, sitting with your back towards the room, you hear Levi walk to the balcony door.

'Do not worry, I 'm not suicidal, ' you tell him without turning. You look at the long drop down and sigh.

You think over what Zeke told you. You know it 's likely that you won 't live past the next year. With the unstable political climate and imminent threat of war, you will cease to be treated like royalty here the second the battling between Varsiko and Novaryn reignites.

'Levi, ' you call to the man behind you.

'What? '

'When the time comes to get rid of me, instead of shooting me in the back, could you aim for my head? ' you ask with a light, conversational tone. 'It is quicker and easier. '

Levi stays quiet and you feel his wary eyes on you. You chuckle to yourself.

'Do not mind me. Humour is just my way of coping, ' you enlighten him.

'I see. '

When you feel your resolve chipping away, second by second, you bite your lip and force your voice steady with the expertise of someone who grew up in the middle of whispers and scorn, pretending not to notice.

'Could you step back inside for just a moment and close the door? ' you request. He looks at you for a few seconds, and you then hear the door close with a small clack.

Looking out to the dark yard, you finally allow the tears to come. You sob as quietly and composedly as you can as the hopelessness of your situation makes it hard to breathe.

Inside, leaning against the balcony door with a grim look on his face, Levi stands guard to your silent tears.