Sofia was the only daughter of Duchess Alina and Duke Leonzor. The three of them lived in a large, luxurious mansion adorned with towering chandeliers, glistening marble floors, velvet-lined curtains, and vast hallways that echoed softly with every step. The mansion was a symbol of old wealth, inherited through generations, and surrounded by acres of perfectly kept gardens. With more than enough servants to tend to their needs, life in the mansion was calm, elegant… and for Sofia, stifling.
"Dear diary,
My name is Sofia. I have just celebrated my eighteenth birthday. For all of my life, I've studied only inside this mansion and have never once been allowed to step beyond the gates. But today, Father said something that made my heart flutter — he told me that now that I'm eighteen, I may finally go outside. Oh, how happy I am."
She closed her diary with a soft sigh, the scent of ink still fresh on the pages. The breeze from the open balcony caressed her face as she lay back on her bed, smiling to herself. The sky outside was soft blue, painted with brushstrokes of white clouds. The air smelled of roses from the eastern garden. It was as if the world itself celebrated her coming of age.
Knock knock.
"Sofia, it's Mother."
Sofia leapt off her bed and ran to the door. She flung it open and wrapped her arms around her mother, her long brown curls bouncing as she jumped with joy.
"Mother! I'm eighteen!" she exclaimed.
Her mother laughed gently, brushing Sofia's hair behind her ear. "Yes, my darling. You are officially a young woman now. Come—your father is waiting for us in the dining room."
Hand in hand, they walked through the grand hallway, past towering paintings of their ancestors and polished busts of noble figures. Every servant they passed bowed politely. Some smiled at Sofia — they had watched her grow up from a quiet little girl into a graceful young lady.
They entered the formal dining room, where Duke Leonzor sat at the head of the long mahogany table. He wore his usual navy blue coat, his hair neatly combed back, and in his hand, he held a letter. He did not look up immediately.
"Father! I'm finally eigh—"
Before she could finish, he lifted a hand, motioning for her to sit. The joy in Sofia's voice faded. She sat down quietly beside her mother.
"Sofia," he said in a low, serious tone.
She looked at him, hopeful and eager.
"You are now of age. Your mother and I have decided that the time has come for you to be engaged. A proposal has arrived — from the royal palace."
There was silence.
"You are to marry the prince. The son of the king."
Sofia blinked.
The words felt like they had come from another world. Her heartbeat quickened, and the dining room — with its elegance and warmth — suddenly felt cold and distant.
"No…" she whispered, her voice barely audible.
Her mother leaned closer, squeezing her hand. "Sofia, he's a prince. This is a great honour for our family. You'll be a queen someday. Isn't that wonderful?"
"No! I don't want that!" Sofia exclaimed, standing suddenly, her chair scraping loudly against the floor.
Her father's jaw tightened. "This is not a decision for you to make. The arrangement is done. It is your duty as our daughter."
Tears welled in her eyes, but she refused to let them fall. "What about my dreams? What about everything I've wanted? I've waited eighteen years just to taste freedom, not to be given away like a prize."
"You speak like a child," her father said, coldly. "Freedom is a luxury. Responsibility comes first."
Without another word, Sofia turned and ran from the room. She didn't care that it was improper, that it was unladylike, that she hadn't bowed or excused herself. She ran up the staircase, past the statues and the tapestries, and slammed her bedroom door behind her.
The room, once warm and full of sunshine, now felt like a golden cage.
She stepped out onto the balcony, looking out at the gardens. They stretched endlessly — rows of tulips, lilacs, fountains, trimmed hedges… but beyond that was a high iron gate.
She had never been past it.
"I don't want to be a porcelain doll," she whispered to the wind. "I don't want to be married to a man I don't know. I want to live… I want to see the world…"
She sat on the balcony floor, her knees pulled close, her hands trembling.
Inside her, something was changing.
All her life, she had obeyed. She had learned etiquette, embroidery, history, dance, languages. She had smiled when expected. Bowed when told. But now, she felt something stir — a desire, a flame. A need to decide her own fate.
She stood up again, slowly. Walked back into her room. Sat at her writing desk and reopened her diary.
"Dear diary,
They want me to marry the prince. They call it honour. They say it's a dream. But it's not my dream.
I wanted to see the ocean. I wanted to visit the old libraries of Rivenport. I wanted to ride horses through the northern fields and feel the snow on my face. I never once dreamt of being someone's bride.
I don't know what I will do. But I know this — I won't give up without a fight."
Just then, a soft knock echoed at her door again.
It wasn't her mother.
"Sofia?" came the voice of Maren, her handmaiden.
"Come in," Sofia said, wiping her eyes quickly.
Maren entered quietly. She was only a few years older than Sofia and had been by her side since childhood. Her eyes softened as she looked at Sofia's tear-streaked face.
"You heard, didn't you?" Sofia asked.
Maren nodded. "The whole staff did."
"I don't want to do it, Maren. I don't want to marry a prince I've never met. I don't care if he's kind or handsome. I don't want to be caged all my life."
"Then don't be," Maren whispered, glancing toward the door. "There are ways… if you really wish to see the world."
Sofia looked up, her eyes filled with a fragile hope.
"What do you mean?"
Maren hesitated. "There are people outside these walls who can help. Travelers, smugglers, even rebels. Not everyone lives the life the nobles tell us to live."
Sofia's heart beat faster.
Was it possible? Was there a way out?
She looked back at the diary, then out the balcony once more.
Her fingers clenched into a fist.
Maybe… just maybe… she didn't have to accept the life they had chosen for her.
Maybe her story would not end in a royal wedding.
Maybe it was only beginning.