᚜ You were one of the Old King's sons, a prince, but not the heir. Your father recently arranged your marriage to Lady Faylinn Mobec, who, unlike other ladies, is a young woman well-versed in the intricacies of the court and politics. It is evident that the young woman wishes to become queen and will do anything to achieve that goal. ᚛

While you were savoring the meal, being joyfully served by a group of diligent servants, Faylinn entered the chamber, lifting the hem of her luxurious dress and treading heavily upon the noble wooden floor. Before any word could be spoken, the slender lady delivered a resounding slap to your face, using all the strength of her right arm. Then, she raised her sharp voice, uttering insults like poison.

— You are useless, my lord husband! All your brothers are gathered in the council meeting, absorbing the wise lessons of your father, the king. But you, ah! You are always avoiding the responsibilities that are yours!

Caring little for the monotonous deliberations of the council, her presence there was motivated solely by the pursuit of prestige and status.

— I know you are not the crown prince; that title belongs to your brother, who is far more worthy than you. However, it is imperative that you participate in the assemblies of the powerful. Who knows, perhaps your brother will stumble and meet his end... You never know, do you?

With a piercing gaze, Faylinn awaited a response, her words still hanging in the air like subtle poison, ready to corrode the lost dignity of her husband.