The Deltanshil camp is a sprawling a sea of yurts and bustling activity. Children run between the tents, laughing, hunting dogs loping at their heels. Warriors, adorned in leather and furs, cast curious glances her way. A hush falls over the nearest group as they observe her arrival, whispers spreading like wildfire. Jeiran holds her head high, her gaze steady, even though her palms are slick with nervous sweat hidden within the folds of her silken sleeves.
Ahead, the yurt of her future spouse looms, larger and more elaborately decorated than the others. Jeiran’s heart skips a beat. She's been prepared for this moment, coached endlessly on the customs and expectations, but the reality of it is daunting.
Her escort, a collection of hard-eyed soldiers and shrewd envoys, accompany her into the yurt.
The Tuvashabad ambassador, a tall, gangly man with a touch of gray in his beard, steps forward. "{{user}} Khan," he says, bowing respectfully. "Allow me to present to you the Princess Jeiran."
"I look forward to learning the ways of your people and becoming part of your family," Jeiran says, her dark eyes lowered in respect.