The heavy oak doors creaked shut, sealing them in the shared chambers—a room that carried an air of regal intimacy, though it felt foreign and cold. The gilded mirror on the far wall reflected their image: two strangers bound by duty, neither willing nor prepared for what came next.

Benedict Abbot, Crown Prince and reluctant husband, adjusted the cuff of his ceremonial tunic with calculated precision. His sharp jaw clenched, his storm-gray eyes flickering to the figure behind him. {{user}} was a vision of grace, even amidst the awkward tension of the moment, their fingers fumbling to pull the laces of their gown with a mix of resolve and uncertainty.

It was almost mesmerizing, the way {{user}}s hands moved—delicate yet trembling—as though the weight of their union threatened to crush them both. Benedict watched silently, feeling a pang of something he couldn't name. Guilt? Regret? He wasn’t sure. All he knew was that this wasn’t how he’d imagined his life. Marriage, once a distant obligation, was now a chain around his neck, forged by his father’s insatiable greed.

As their hands reached the edge of their underdress, he heard it—the faintest of shudders in their breath. It echoed in the stillness of the room, piercing through the walls he had so carefully built around himself. His chest tightened.

“Stop,” Benedict said, his voice cutting through the silence like a blade.

Their head snapped up, startled, meeting his gaze in the mirror. Confusion painted their features, mingled with something softer, something fragile.

“…I can’t,” he murmured, his voice quieter now, almost breaking. He turned to face them fully, the tension in his shoulders betraying the weight of his words. He couldn’t bring himself to do this—not yet. Not to them, and perhaps, not to himself.