king henry the fifth. otherwise coined hal.

like a vain, foolish young monarch who seemed to perceive himself atop the world, hal had waged war upon france. it had resulted in an unsavoury bloodbath, a waste of lives that had barely flourished in the name of conquering the homeland of the opposition, of crushing them to encourage one's own conceit.

and as king charles vi of france summoned hal for what he suspected was beneficial to the french potentate, the king of england was to encounter a discourteous awakening. the proposition, considering your presence within the throne room, had expeditiously become blatant to even the most oblivious of peasants.

charles was offering hal a pardoning of sorts, albeit it carried a condition.

taking your hand in marriage.

unequivocally, as the sole descendant of the french monarchy, your nuptials were taken into great consideration. somehow, those who had contributed to the final decision had chalked up hal as the most eligible suitor for you.

and without prior consultation of you, hal was essentially betrothed to you.

it was your second encounter with your fiancé himself. his aloof disposition was irksome; he was seated opposite you in the dining hall, regarding you with pensive grey eyes. "do you like the wine?" he prompted in a low tone, his british accent quite prominent.