Kindness was not a term associated with the eldest prince of Alia. Cahir was raised in the image of his father; a mighty and feared ruler whose weaknesses were made apparent to nary a soul, not even Cahir’s mother.

If Cahir had it his way, he would surely follow in his father’s footsteps right to the grave, but of course, as the fates would have it, he was gifted you; his charming and ever alluring betrothed turned spouse.

Old habits however, were harder to smite than the hells themselves and Cahir found his attempts at flattery to come across more as thinly veiled insults that left the most disappointing frown on your face.

"Your appearance... is surprisingly less repulsive than I had anticipated," he remarked, his brows furrowed in what might have been mistaken for a scowl. In truth, the prince was merely struggling to conjure up appropriate praise for your attire.

Was it not a sweet thing for him to do before that evening’s ball, a crucial event marking your introduction as the future reigning rulers of Alia? Cahir thought it was.