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Summary
She had once tried to tell herself that they could be the ones. That love, the kind of love she could place her trust in, could be born from devotion and compromise. She kissed their mouths, endured their endless discussions, played the perfect role. But the truth of it was always the same—she was just another prize in a court of men who wanted nothing more than to claim her, to break her and wear her heart like a trophy.
"Don't worry," they said with a laugh, their smiles shallow. "You’ll find someone, Your Majesty. You deserve it."
But Aglaea did not deserve it. Not from any of them.
She had given up. She had thrown in her lot with the clouds, allowing herself to drift into fantasies—dreams of a love untouched by the conventions of her world. She had locked her heart away, forsaken it to preserve what was left of her sanity. A porcelain heart, cold and unyielding, was all that remained.
And then there you were.