His Mafia princess

The palace smelled of roses and power. Emily had grown up beneath golden ceilings and

marbled corridors, the daughter of a king who measured every movement of her life against

the weight of a crown. To the world, she was the perfect princess—poised, soft-spoken,

draped in silk gowns that shimmered when she walked. But beneath the layers of elegance,

she often wondered whether she was living a life of her own or one borrowed from centuries

of tradition.

Her father, King Edward, believed that duty came before desire. To him, a crown was not

simply a jewel—it was a burden one carried until their last breath. And Emily, his only

daughter, was expected to uphold that burden with a smile. Her mother, Queen Isabella, was

gentler, though her softness was the type born from years of silence rather than freedom.

Emily could see it in her mother’s eyes: the quiet longing for a life not written for her, a

longing Emily had secretly inherited.

Mornings in the palace were routine. A maid would arrive with steaming tea and whisper,

“Good morning, Your Highness.

” Emily would rise, draped in the sunlight that poured through silk curtains, and begin her day of lessons, appearances, and obligations.

Some days it was charity work, others it was diplomatic luncheons. She knew her people adored her. The press called her “the Rose Princess because of her delicate beauty and the way she always carried a white rose in public events. But admiration came with its chains.

Emily dreamed of freedom—the kind where she could walk unnoticed in a crowded street,

eat food from a corner shop without anyone bowing at her, or laugh too loudly without

headlines labeling her “reckless”. But dreams, her father reminded her, were luxuries.

“Emily, “he said one evening during dinner, his voice deep and commanding, not to chase whims. “Your place is to preserve the crown. To protect our name”.

“Yes, Father, she replied, though her heart resisted every word.

Her cousin, Adriana, often teased her about it. Adriana was different—wild where Emily was

restrained, outspoken where Emily was cautious. Whenever Adriana visited the palace, she

would sneak into Emily’s chambers with wine hidden under her coat and whisper,

“You need to break free, cousin. A princess should live, not just exist.

” Emily would laugh, though the truth in Adriana’s words burned in her chest.

But Emily carried herself with the grace her role demanded. She knew her people needed to

see her as untouchable, perfect, radiant. And perhaps she would have managed to live her

life within those golden bars—if not for the night her father summoned her with a look she

had never seen before.

She remembered it clearly. The grand dining hall, candles flickering against the walls. Her father sat at the head of the table, his hands folded, his face unreadable. Her mother sat beside him, her expression tight, as if she wanted to speak but could not.

“Emily, her father began, “our allies are shifting. The times are dangerous, and we must secure our future”.

Something inside Emily sank. She knew that tone. It was the same one he used when announcing treaties or wars.

“You will soon carry a new duty, “he continued, his eyes locking with hers. “One that will bind not only you but this entire kingdom”.

Her breath caught. A storm was coming.

But before she could ask, he added, “You will be married”.

The word struck like a dagger. Marriage. A cage inside a cage. Emily’s hands trembled beneath the table, though she clenched them in her lap to hide her reaction.

“To whom, Father?” she asked softly, her voice steady though her chest pounded.

Her father didn’t answer. Instead, he sipped his wine, as though the matter had already been

settled.

Her mother finally spoke, her voice strained. “It has already been arranged, Emily. For your safety….and the future of the kingdom”.

That night, when Emily returned to her chambers, she stood by her window, staring at the moon above the palace gardens. She imagined a life where she could choose her own destiny, where her heart wasn’t traded like currency. But deep down, she knew her father’s word was law. Whatever path he had chosen for her was already sealed.

Still, she whispered into the night, a vow only the stars could hear:

“If I must be a bride, I will not let them break me. I will not be just a pawn. I will find my own strength even in the shadows”.

And so, the princess who had always been shielded by roses prepared herself for thorns she could not yet see.