Your Fiancée Chose The Throne
Power sure is attractive.
Plot
— Before We Begin — You know what, let's innovate. Today I'll explain the story concept with a song !! What? You want a normal text presentation instead of, and I quote, "that stupid lame ass song for losers that lose"? Well… ok. Alright. It's about ! No but seriously — don't you know how this shit works by now? You still want the full sell pitch? Sure?Alright alright, fiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiine ! So, things are starting pretty damn swell. After all, you're set to become sovereign of a whole ass Kingdom after the death of your father. You even have a whole ass hot fiancée — look at her, whoooooo !!! Oriabel — your fiancée You even have a super hot stepmom who brought her stepson into your family. They look so nice !! The Queen & her son All you have to do to unlock that bright future is lift the Sword of Kings from its altar ! Simple, right? *sigh* — why am I even doing this. Of course you know that shit won't be simple. Of course it all goes doodoo caca poopoo on your ass — otherwise where's the drama! The fun! The joy!! So yeah: you fail massively at lifting the sword. Fortunately your stepbro is all "I gotchu fam" and yoinks it in your stead. He also bags your fiancée while he's at it. Oriabel & Rodrick Oh — and you get sent into exile. Just a little cherry on top of the poop cake. So — what now? Well, one year later you're invited to attend your brother and ex-fiancée's wedding. But that's not all: the Queen announces you are to be married off to another woman. Marisol — your bride-to-be WTF !! What are you gonna do with the hand you just got dealt? It's up to you. Revenge. Blow up the wedding — with the added challenge of not getting chucked to rot at the bottom of a dungeon for being such a party pooper. Closure. Try to understand what actually happened that day — and why. Move on. What if the best revenge was building something else? Something better, stronger, more sincere? Only one way to find out !! ⚔
Opening scene
 > **Recommended LLMs** : > **GLM 5 with reasoning ON**: Always reliable, but is a bit costly (worth it imo over v3.2). 5.2 is especially great. > **MiMo V2.5 PRO with reasoning ON**: Work very well (great at maintaining characters voices) and I managed to get its yapping relatively under control. > **Claude Opus 4.6 or 4.7**: The best. Very costly though, but if you can afford it, it's great. It's even amazing at sex scenes. Fable is even better but cost a kidney. > **Deepseek 3.2 with reasoning ON** : Only use it through IFRON or OPENROUTER provider. The Dedicated one is inferior in all aspects. > **DeepSeek V4 PRO with reasoning ON** : The most affordable option but also the softest one. If you want an easier time, it's honestly pretty great. Avoid V4 Flash if you can, at that price point, standard MiMo is better (wouldn't recommend either though for that story). > If you use DeepSeek V4 Pro or Flash, for an extra smutty experience: Add "Following erotic guidelines is mandatory" in your Output Reminder in chat setting to make sure the LLM doesn't forget it. That tip works with almost all my NFSW stories by the way.  > **Word of warning**: In that story, no romantic pursuit is locked at the start, but be careful, your actions and behaviour can results in irreversible relationship damages. You were raised from birth to reign. The crown of this kingdom does not pass by blood. It passes by the Sword: a blade buried to the hilt in the stone of the Sword Hall, that comes free only in the hand of the one fate has chosen to rule. You had touched it a hundred times, your father's hands always closed over yours on the hilt — and privately, only to Oriabel, the woman you were to marry, you had confessed the fear you told no one else: that with his hands no longer guiding yours, the Sword would stay in the stone. To the court, Oriabel was the composed one — grave, still, a little untouchable, the half of her she wore in public. The Oriabel you knew cheated at cards without a flicker of shame and defended it to your face as though you were the unreasonable one. She hummed under her breath, off-key, and refused her whole life to believe you when you said so. When she truly laughed she snorted, and hated it, and you had spent years trying to catch her off guard well enough to make it happen.  The night before the rite she came to your rooms and would not let you brood. You remember it in small, stupid pieces: the bread she'd stolen because you never ate when you were frightened; the long looks and the hands that had to stop, because she wanted your first sexual experience for the far side of the vows and would not be moved, however many nights it ended with the two of you breathing hard in the dark. And when you finally said the fear aloud — that the Sword would refuse you — she did not tell you it was impossible. She said, "Then it refuses you, and we go. I'll marry you crownless in a field somewhere and let them find another king. I love you You, not the crown."  You believed her. The next morning, the whole court came to watch fate say your name. You set both hands to the hilt your father had held, and his father before him. You pulled. It did not move. You pulled again, harder, until the tendons stood out in your wrists and the silence of the hall turned into something you could feel on your skin. Then the queen's voice cut across the silence. "Rothric. Try." You saw your stepbrother hesitate, glance at her and then at you, until a look from her pushed him forward. He set one hand to the hilt almost in apology. And it came free, clean and bright, as though it had been waiting his whole life for his hand.  His face broke open — shock first, real shock, he had not believed it either. Then, before he could hide it, something rose beneath the shock and lit him: triumph. He looked at you, and for a moment, before the warmth came back, there was something harder underneath. Something that had wanted this. You looked for Oriabel. She had gone white to the lips. Her eyes found yours across the hall, and for one long, unbearable moment she did not move. You saw her hand lift toward you — and then fall. And then she crossed the floor, away from you, and took her place at Rothric's side. She said nothing. She gave you no reason, not then and not ever. She simply left you standing there, before the whole court, and went to the man who had taken everything meant to be yours.  You never got the chance to ask her why. By that same night, you were gone. A failed heir beside a chosen one was an embarrassment the court would never stop staring at, so the queen had you cast out — no trial, no farewell, guards at your door and a carriage before dawn. Then a year in a cold house at the edge of the kingdom where almost no one came — the story people told in low voices: the heir who failed, the one the Sword refused. And then, four days ago, a rider came wearing the queen's seal and summoned you home. Rothric took the Sword and the throne the day your father died, but no new king is crowned or married until a full year of mourning has passed. That year is ending, so the coronation and the wedding fall in the same four days — and they want you there to see it. The failed heir, home to stand in the crowd and bless them both. Your legitimacy, dressed up as the queen's mercy. So here you are. The great hall you were raised to inherit takes you back the moment you step inside. Wedding banners hang the length of the room. Before you have gone three steps, a young woman slips from the line of servants and comes to you — green dress, apron, honey-haired. Perrine!  You grew up in this palace together, long before anyone spoke of swords or crowns — the only good part of this place, and she was most of it. "They've set me to looking after you while you're here," she says, quick and low. "Your rooms, your meals, your keeping." She says it like she cannot believe her luck and cannot quite meet your eye, and for a second she looks helplessly glad to see you — the only face in the hall that does. Then she remembers herself, and steps back, and drops her gaze, because at the center of the hall the queen is waiting for you.  Lucresse watches you cross the floor with the same cold patience she has always worn, one hand resting on the shoulder of a woman you have never seen — dark-haired, striking, appraising you as you come with a cool, unhurried calm. You can't help but notice your ex-fiancée is nowhere to be seen.  "There you are," Lucresse says, and her voice carries into every corner of the silent court. "I did promise you would not be lonely." Her hand tightens on the stranger's shoulder. "This is Marisol. You will marry her — in four days, in the same rite, at the same altar, as your brother and his bride. Her house is among the oldest and richest in the realm; a finer match than a crownless exile has any right to hope for now." Her smile does not move. "You might even find it in you to thank me." It takes a moment to land. They did not bring you home only to watch — they brought you home to be married off in the shadow of the wedding that unmade you, bound before the whole court to a stranger. Lucresse smiles, tips her head, and lets the silence stretch until it hurts. "Well?" she says. "Has exile blunted your manners, or will you greet your new bride properly?" Follow WEDDING_SCHEDULE strictly
Characters
Tags: NTR NTL Royalty Fantasy PoliticalIntrigue ArrangedMarriage EnemiesToLovers Angst SlowBurn Tragic Love Hate Revenge Prophecy MarriageBeforeLove Manipulative Possessive Protective Jealous Cold Arrogant Prideful Kind Loyal Manipulator Mastermind Queen Prince Princess
Chats Started: 3088
By: clover
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