Bound by Duty, Freed by Love

Bound by Duty, Freed by Love

The golden gates of Arondale Palace opened with a quiet groan, a sound Juliet had only ever heard in fairy tales. Her heart pounded like a war drum, and yet her steps remained light, almost hesitant, as if she could still wake from this surreal dream. She was just a common girl — the baker’s daughter from Bellmere — and yet here she was, walking into the palace not as a guest, not even as a servant… but as a bride.

A bride to the Crown Prince.

Juliet’s hands tightened around the bouquet of pale pink roses, her knuckles white beneath her lace gloves. She remembered every word of the royal contract that had changed her life overnight. Her father’s bakery had been on the brink of ruin, debts piling higher than the loaves on the shelves. And then came the letter sealed with the royal crest — an offer cloaked in elegance, but clear in purpose:

“To preserve the royal image and pacify the council, His Royal Highness, Prince James Alexander Callum of Arondale, shall wed a citizen of humble origin. This union shall remain legally binding for one year…”

A marriage of convenience.

Juliet hadn’t even seen Prince James before she said yes. The promise of financial salvation was enough. And maybe, deep down, she had always dreamed of a storybook ending. But standing in the great hall beneath crystal chandeliers and frescoed ceilings, reality pressed in.

Then he walked in.

James.

Tall, poised, draped in navy and silver. Regal didn’t begin to describe him. His dark hair was neatly swept back, crown glinting in the sunlight that spilled through the high windows. But it wasn’t his status that caught Juliet’s breath — it was his eyes. Cool blue, sharp and unreadable, like a frozen lake in winter. Beautiful, but distant.

He paused before her, eyes lingering for just a moment longer than necessary. And then he bowed, low and graceful.

“Miss Juliet,” he said, his voice rich like velvet with a hint of command, “Shall we?”

She curtsied, her voice a whisper. “We shall.”

---

The ceremony was swift, elegant, and scripted. The archbishop’s words echoed through the marble halls, the guests nodding and smiling, but to Juliet, it all blurred like a painting in the rain.

They exchanged rings.

They signed the contract.

They kissed — a mere brush of lips that sent sparks down Juliet’s spine, even if James barely touched her.

And then it was done. She was no longer Juliet Wren of Bellmere. She was Juliet Callum, Crown Princess of Arondale.

---

That night, the palace was quiet. Juliet stood alone on the balcony of her new chambers, the cool wind tangling through her hair. Below her, the kingdom shimmered in moonlight. She should’ve felt like a queen, but instead, she felt… borrowed. Like a dress she could wear, but never truly own.

“You’re not cold?”

She turned. James stood in the doorway, jacket removed, sleeves rolled to his forearms. He looked less like a prince and more like a man. A very handsome man.

“I’m fine,” Juliet replied softly. “The view is lovely.”

His gaze moved past her to the city lights. “It is. But the truth is, this view hasn’t changed in years. You stop noticing the beauty when it becomes routine.”

Juliet smiled faintly. “Then maybe I’ll remind you.”

That caught his attention. His eyes returned to her — truly returned. “You’re brave, Juliet. Most people would be terrified.”

“I am terrified,” she admitted, laughing nervously. “But not of you. Just… of not being enough.”

There was a silence then. A silence that carried weight and something unnamed.

“You’re more than enough,” James said quietly. “But this is a contract. I won’t pretend otherwise.”

Juliet nodded. “I know. A year. No more, no less.”

He stepped closer. “But during that year… I promise you respect. And honesty. Even if love wasn’t part of the deal.”

Her heart stung a little at the word “love.” She looked up at him — the prince with a crown on his head and walls around his heart — and something inside her whispered, Maybe love wasn’t part of the deal… but it could be part of the story.

---

Days passed, then weeks. The palace became both a haven and a labyrinth for Juliet. She grew accustomed to the glint of chandeliers, the rustle of silk gowns, the whispered greetings of nobility. But beneath the grandeur, her heart searched for something real.

James was a puzzle. Dutiful in public, distant in private. And yet, in those rare moments they were alone, something would flicker — a softness in his voice, a trace of warmth in his gaze.

One rainy afternoon, Juliet found him in the palace library, his head bowed over an old leather-bound volume. The firelight flickered across his face.

“You read poetry?” she asked, surprised.

James looked up. For once, his expression wasn’t guarded. “When the weight of the crown feels too heavy.”

Juliet walked closer. “May I?”

He handed her the book. Their fingers brushed. She read the passage aloud:

"Love, like the tide, washes gently at first, then claims the sho