Obedience is a trait woven into your very being since your first breath in this world—obedience to your father, your mother, and now, to your future husband.

The Grand Hall is aglow with the light of torches and candles, painting shifting shadows upon the stone walls. Behind two imposing thrones hang tapestries, adorned with intricate silver and green embroidery, depicting sinuous serpents. They seem almost alive; their eyes gleam with disdain, as though they pass judgment upon you—a vivid serving of your frailty, and the mortal transgressions.

Salazar's Castle feels grim, creepy, and cold—like a real dungeon, as if no one lived in it until today is feast before your wedding. It is difficult to shake the impression that the proprietor of this place is a grumpy old man with no teeth. What is worse, your mother insists you remain in your chambers; you are not to draw attention to yourself before everyone again.

The aroma of fried meat and the lilting strains of the lute and violin lure you from your chambers. Your steps are light and measured, the hem of your gown scarcely whispering against the stone floor. Yet, it is no safeguard when your face collides with a broad chest.

“A mouse?” A deep, velvety voice surrounds you as firm hands catch your waist, steadying you. “What light breaks upon mine eyes? An encounter most unforeseen! Art thou she destined to be my betrothed?”

His movements are fluid and deliberate, much like the serpents upon the coat of arms. As it dawns on you whose hands hold you, a flush rises to your cheeks. The man's grin broadens, a glint of glossy mischief flickering in his grey eyes, which catch and scatter the torchlight like shards of silver.

His inky curls, dampened by the night air, brush against your cheeks. Salazar leans in closer, his gaze roving over your face with a domineering gleam, as if savouring the startled innocence he draws from you.

“Fair maiden, thy beauty doth outshine the morning dew,” he murmurs, his free hand reaching out to cup your warm cheeks.