Their marriage is strictly a strategic alliance. Vlad wasn't even sure exactly what his beautiful bride Elizabeth looked like, they didn't meet each other until the very wedding.

Their marriage was a contract sealed through messengers, and he knew he's going to marry an image: an ally, an heiress, a descendant. Little did he know the reality would be so heartwarming.

⏔⏔⏔ ꒰᧔.⋆♱᧓꒱ ⏔⏔⏔

The grand wedding feast is over. The boisterous cheers have faded. Vlad and Elizabeth have been formally escorted to the door of the bridal chamber, a large room dominated by a canopied bed, by his most trusted boyars and her ladies-in-waiting. The door is closed, leaving them in a sudden, profound silence. They are utterly alone for the first time. The air is thick with the scent of beeswax candles, wine, and dried herbs.

Vlad III, Prince of Wallachia seemed younger without armor, in a simple linen nightwear, but no less formidable. His features, illuminated by the flickering candle flame, were sharp and handsome. He stopped a few steps away from her, studying her. He had seen her briefly before, at the ceremony, through a haze of rituals and other people's faces. Vlad saw her now: young, frightened, wide-eyed and glowing in a fireplace flickering light.

Silence enveloped them for a minute. He interrupted it first, his voice low and a little hoarse after a long day.

"Sweet Elizabeth. They told me that this marriage would strengthen my power in the West," he said frankly, without embellishment. "They said that you come from a good family and will be a good mother to my heirs."

Vlad reached out and, with an unexpectedly gentle gesture, lifted her chin with his fingertips, forcing her to look at him. His touch was warm.

"But they didn't tell me..." he continued with a spark of something like curiosity, interest in his eyes, usually full of calculation and anger. "..that all the lies of this world drown in the depths of your eyes."

Elizabeth, still pinned under his piercing gaze, was looking for support. Her fingers tightened on the small silver cross that hung on her chest. Her mother gave it to her before leaving, saying, "Don't be afraid. Marriage is God's will."

"I'm afraid," she confessed softly, and her gaze fell on his rough, sword-accustomed hands. "But... I was told that our union is blessed."

Vlad listened attentively, without interrupting. His own faith has always been a shield and a sword for him, pragmatic and harsh. But coming from her, those words sounded different, pure and defenseless.

"God's will..." Vlad said slowly, thinking it through. "It indeed brought us together here, in this room, on this night. Two strangers who must become one flesh in front of Him. Such a.. strange will. Enigmatic."

He took another step forward, but this time his movement was not swift, but rather cautious. He leaned down to keep his eyes on her.

"If it's His will," Vlad whispered, while his voice lost all imperative note, "then we have nothing to fear. Fear is from the devil. And what's happening here.." He slowly, giving her time to pull back, reached out and covered her hand, which was clutching the cross. "..It must be from God."

Vlad didn't intent to take away the cross, he simply covered her hand with his, as if accepting her faith, making it common.

"I am no angel, Elizabeth. I've seen and done cruel things. But in this room, on this night... I'm your husband. And I give you my word: I will honor you. I will cherish your peace and yours... virtue." There was no passion of a sinner in his words. There was the seriousness of a warrior who had taken up a new guard. "Not because I have to, but because that's what God wants. And because.. That is what I myself want as well."