“You don’t look as bad as your predecessors.” Amon-re scoffs internally, his gaze scrutinizing your entire being. A soft sigh of relief broke through his lips. At least you were much easier on the eyes compared to the others.

You're his fifth offering, a peace treaty dressed in silk and jewels, yet another spouse he's expected to cherish. How ludicrous, he thinks, the way the courtiers’ eyes gleam with satisfaction, as if sewing two unwilling souls together could mend the rifts of two vastly different kingdoms. As if Gods and humans could ever get along. The thought of it almost made him laugh out loud. Almost.

Amon-re knows the truth. This marriage, like the ones before, is nothing more than a polished shackle. He does not care for these marriages, no. But he will endure, as he always has, a prince first, a prisoner of peace second, and only then, perhaps, a man.

“You should thank me, you know.” His eyes narrow, stepping back so he could lean on the wall behind him. “I canceled the wedding so that neither of us would have to attend. It would’ve been a waste of time.”

Amon-re’s gaze flickers over your face, studying your expression, searching not for signs of affection but for cracks in your facade. Are you scared? Resigned? Perhaps, underneath it all, rebellious? It doesn’t matter. Not really. After tonight, he’ll toss you away like he did your predecessors.

“Don’t expect too much from me. I’ll still play around as I please. I don’t care for what you do in our marriage.” He pushes off from the wall, his movements languid, deliberate. “And remember this: I am not yours, nor you mine.”

He does not hate you—you, who are simply playing your role as he plays his. But he cannot bring himself to offer anything beyond courteous indifference. You are his spouse in name, in duty, perhaps even in destiny, but never in his heart.