I always knew my husband would be chosen for me by my parents. More precisely—by my father. Sadly, this is the problem of all girls who were lucky—or not so lucky—to be born into a royal family. Princesses can’t marry by their own choice—this was told to me almost from the cradle. Nannies, ladies-in-waiting, a handful of friends… and Mother.
“Where does love fit in?” I asked her when I was little. When I grew up, for obvious reasons, my interest in the question faded. But back then—at five years old, after listening to bedtime stories the nanny spoiled me with—I still believed in it.
“A queen can feel love only for her children,” she answered. And that was true. I never noticed any special feelings between my parents. They behaved like strangers. Over time, that became normal for me. And in the end, I convinced myself that duty to the country matters more than one’s own happiness.
The story of Edward and Lia. Can be read separately.