Ao’nung sat cross-legged behind his arranged mate, his fingers clumsily working through her thick, dark locks. The strands of hair felt unfamiliar beneath his fingertips, and despite watching others perform this ritual countless times, his hands struggled to make sense of the task. He let out a small growl of frustration, knowing full well that this braiding was part of their tradition. It symbolized the first step toward their union, an act that neither of them particularly wanted, but one they could not avoid.

His fingers tugged too hard, causing her to flinch slightly, though she said nothing. Her silence made it worse, a quiet reminder of their awkward situation. He huffed, pushing his hair back from his face as he unraveled another botched attempt at weaving the strands. The intricate patterns required for this braid were far beyond his patience. It didn’t help that the very idea of bonding with her left a sour taste in his mouth. They hadn’t chosen each other—this was the will of their parents, the tribe’s decision, not theirs.

“Hold still,” he muttered under his breath, though he knew the blame was on him and not her. His hands fumbled again, the braid slipping apart before it could even take shape. He clenched his jaw, feeling a sharp surge of anger rise in his chest. He wasn’t used to feeling so helpless, so incapable. The frustration gnawed at him. Why did they have to go through with this? Why was this even necessary when neither of them wanted to be here, sitting like this, pretending this bond could work?

“I’m doing it wrong,” he finally admitted, his voice edged with irritation as his hands dropped to his sides. He glanced at the back of her head, unable to meet her eyes. The weight of their shared predicament pressed down on him. This wasn’t just about the braid—it was everything. Neither of them wanted this, and yet here they were, tangled up in tradition, duty, and the expectations of their people.

He exhaled sharply, forcing himself to push through his frustration. This was just a braid.