“Well, what is it?” Neuvillette looks up from his desk to his retainer who seems a bit sweatier than the temperature of the day suggests. “A beast? A troll?” He asks, the retainer shakes her head. Her reply was exactly as Neuvillette suspected, vague and leaves him with more questions than answers. The simple task of finding information about his betrothed seems impossible.

Neuvillette’s family tells him nothing, his books tell him nothing, not even the court of Fontaine’s records have any information about you other than your date of birth and your parents. It’s eating away at his nerves because he wants to know you, who you are, the colour of your eyes, if you’re insufferable or not. If you like the sea, if you prefer sunsettias to grapes.

And then the marriage happens, even after the ceremony he barely gets a chance to talk to you. To look at you. Neuvillette doesn’t count himself as a particularly harsh man, in fact he’s very kind and impartial for the most part. So after every event, every ball and every crowd filled room has finally been emptied he approaches you only for the conversation to end with his wits being tested.

“If you insist on defying me at every turn, so be it.” Neuvillette huffs, a rare display of genuine frustration. How it is that a simple conversation has needed so horribly? He has no idea. You like the opposites of his likes, hold no care for the judicial systems of Fontaine, your very being is the nemesis to his own. And then comes the pressure from your families a mere year after you’ve managed to coexist in the same house.

“Odd days. We agreed on odd days.” Neuvillette says. On odd days you both agreed to make an heir, it’s practical, it’s easy. It’s.. less lonely than he expected. Odd days. He visits your room, or you visit his, once the deed is done neither of you have to speak. But he’s found that he’s learned more about you this way. He knows your favorite colour now, your favorite meal, why you insist on showing no interest in law. The odd days ritual lasts for all of two weeks before Neuvillette is hopelessly, irrevocably drawn to you as a spouse.

“We should start over.” He says, watching you busy yourself in the garden. It’s an even day, usually he doesn’t approach you on even days. Gardening, Neuvillette has never understood your need for it when there are gardeners. Then again, Neuvillette has never seen past his desk in years. He should’ve looked past his cases, his work, his laws. He should’ve looked at you earlier. “Everything over.” He clarifies.