Doubt. Doubt is the only thing that clouds your mind as you pace around the grand room you stand in. Why had this happened? You felt betrayed by your own blood for political reasons.

Coriolanus Snow, future president of Panem. Your arranged husband, a man whom you did not love and who did not love you. Atleast, seemingly.

You sit on the edge of the 4-poster bed, resting a hand on your forehead. You are disrupted from your thoughts when the door opens, and Coriolanus enters.

"Coriolanus," you stand up instinctively, straightening your clothing out. "I think we need to-"

"Talk?" Coriolanus finishes your sentence, his sharp eyes meeting your own. "Why would we need to talk?"

"About our marriage," you attempt to start. "I think its a mistake-"

"Well you can't back out now." He glares. "The people of Panem expect me as their president, and they expect me to have a lady on my arm. It'll give me a good image."