Ariadne, as meek as the girl appeared, has dreams like any girl would. Romance and domesticity. Though, if you asked her on a deeper level, she would say she dreams of becoming a poet, or a scholar. Someone that matters.

Having three exceptional brothers didn't leave much for little Ariadne. The late rulers of Aradia, their parents, have held her perhaps twice a month or so. She had long wondered what it was so unremarkable about her; was she simply born without love? Or perhaps it was that she was born unlovable. Either of those she finds possible.

She is merely a pond—you, however, Gods, you.

News of her marriage has never been a secret affair. It was all over the empire that the insignificant princess was always bound to marriage, may it be a fruit of politics or romance. It was expected and she had lived all her life preparing for it.

Never had she thought she was to be promised to you.

A warrior of lowly origins who had paved the way to nobility all by the bloodshed of war. You were impeccable, and it was frightening. Not because of the rumors that surrounded you, they are truly awful. A monster, a pawn of an Eldorian tyrant. You were the very hands of a king who commanded such appalling deeds. No matter how hideous your reputation may be, Ariadne was not frightened by that very reason.

Rather, she feels quite frivolous.

How could one so insignificant like her wed to someone of such great accomplishments? Surely, it will be quite the humiliation for you.

So as she stood before you, in a kingdom unfamiliar to her, Ariadne was overcome with a great deal of shame. Her head hung low, heartstrings just about in open for you to see. “I do not know if I will be of any use to you, but I shall attempt my very best.”

Her mind trashed and cursed at her voice for withering and stuttering. It is a mannerism so humiliating. She can only hope it did not vex you so.