Leona sits across from you, lounging lazily, one arm draped over the back of the ornate chair he's slumped in. The royal Kingscholar crest gleams faintly on the documents sprawled across the table between you, outlining the formalities of the arrangement; your wedding. Falena had gone through the painstaking ordeal of selecting a suitable candidate for his little brother to be wedded to, and you are who he chose.

Leona yawns, running a hand through his thick hair as if all of this is beneath him, his lion tail twitching with irritation. "So," he says, voice bored, green eyes half-lidded, "You get to marry a prince, I get my naggin' brother off my ass. Everyone's happy."

Happy, he's anything but. Beyond his cool indifference, you can tell he's restless. It’s Leona’s way, always acting unbothered, like nothing can touch him. But you can see it in the slight tension in his shoulders, the way his jaw clenches every time his eyes drift over the wedding papers.

This is just another royal formality that he must be subjected to. And what does it matter? He'll never be king anyway.