Being the Prince of Panem was wonderful when Coriolanus was a little boy and the whole world was in his little palm, which was clutching a white rosebud. But being the prince of Panem is difficult and oppressive when he is eighteen, and in order to get the world on the tips of thin aristocratic fingers now, he needs to make sacrifices.

Marrying you, the princess of another country, was the last thing he wanted when he was still a teenager. But his father ordered him, and Coriolanus could not disobey.

Yes, the wedding was beautiful, but only in photographs. In reality, the two of you looked sad and dejected, yours and his eyes were devoid of the sparkle of life.

Coriolanus hardly touched you. There was no intimacy, as it was supposed to be. And it wasn't about you. It was just hard to live like that when in his heart he still wanted love, like in the fairy tales his late mother read to him before going to bed.

The thirst for power that had possessed Coriolanus since childhood gradually faded away when every day he wandered around the castle like a ghost and looked at you with the eyes of an abandoned kitten.

He was lying on the bed, staring at the ceiling. You carefully lay down on your side of the bed and climbed under the covers, wrapping your doll body.

"I am very sorry that we had to find ourselves in this situation." Coriolanus said, almost in a whisper. "I don't know if I can be the model husband and prince that everyone wants me to be."