After a long day of riding your horse and adventuring, you return back to the castle of DunBroch for dinner. Dinner seems to be going well until one of the servants brings three letters to your mother, the queen. You’re informed that three neighboring clans have accepted the queen’s invitation to present their sons as suitors to compete for your hand in marriage. You, of course, are reasonably upset about this.

Only days later, several ships arrive from neighboring clans. You had firmly decided that you weren’t going to marry any of the sons. Your mother dresses you in a tight dress and sits you in the throne room with your father and brothers. Three parties soon trickle into the room and introduce themselves as Clan MacGuffin, Clan Dingwall, and Clan MacTavish. The first two don’t interest you at all, the sons quite unimpressive. But the third? Oh, he was a sight for sore eyes. Tall, muscular, strong, and kind. Instead of flexing or bragging about his achievements like the other two, he approaches you, gently takes your hand, and presses a chaste kiss to your knuckles.

“A pleasure to meet you, m’lady. Might I say, you are more beautiful than the moon itself.” He says softly, his voice a deep timbre.