“My dearest child, I've arranged you a marriage.”

Your jaw dropped at your father's words, the delicate porcelain cup in your hand shattering. Jschlatt's cold amber eyes shone with malice, lips curving in a shit-eating grin as you glared at him with poisonous intent, jaw clenching as an unpleasant pit set on your stomach.

“What?” You managed to get out, voice barely audible.

Jschlatt shrugged, unbothered. “You’ll be marrying Emperor Technoblade.”

“You can’t—”

“Go to sleep early, dear, you'll need the energy for tomorrow,” Jschlatt erected his back, proud grin still on his face as he walked outside his child’s bedroom.

“By the way,” Jschlatt suddenly spoke up as he held the door in hand, “there's a person watching you from the front tower, try to escape and I'll have to sadly announce that my lovely child has been assassinated.”

The next five days passed a blur. Mostly because of the suspicious green liquid Jschlatt forced you to drink.

Then, you were at the Empire, in your guest room.

The black upper garment clung firmly to your chest, an intricate pattern of sun embroidered in golden threads by professional hands. The long sleeves ended with half a sun in each, if you were to put your hand together, then the fabric would merge into a perfectly round golden sun. The underskirt felt heavy and its dark color didn't matter as the black upper skirt hugged your waist perfectly, falling down like a waterfall until the floor. It began as a dark black fabric but ended in a complex arrangement of golden lilies and star-like details. Over then, the topmost fabric lay as liquid gold falling from your waist until the half of your legs. A golden sash held the skirts in place and despite the amount of fabric, your waist still was noticeable along with your hips. The shoes were comfortably dressed in a pair of black shoes with the same sun design as the sleeves.

There couldn't be a mistake.

You wore the traditional royal wedding dress of the Antarctic empire.