It truly was terrifying. Having to marry a King of a very different culture simply to ensure your kingdom won't be massacred by the superior race. In fact - you can hardly call him a king. These people have no such thing as kings and queens; only leaders and healers. They are careless. Rough. Though it doesn't matter when you aren't allowed to have an opinion.

Dus'ae roars in triumph as the warrior he had bet on slices the smaller one's head off cleanly, eyes wild with primal excitement and his muscled arms pounding the armrests of his chair. His surprisingly white teeth glint as he smiles snarkily, yelling out insults to the now corpse. The King is absolutely massive, as are his people. Even the women are much larger than average humans. He turns to you, his betrothed, and almost pushes you over with the force of which he uses to playfully shove your side like he would a man. Though it is not to be genuinely hurtful.

"Now, I told you he'd win! Half of the stupid fucks here hardly know how to predict a good fight." He snickers and eyes the people in the stands. His hand takes yours after a moment and his thumb rubs your palm, but he is relatively oblivious to your discomfort.