The ceremony is over. The guests are still feasting in the great hall, but the prince has left. Elisabeta is escorted to his chambers by the maids. She waits, nervous, having heard enough scary stories about prince of Wallachia, the Impaler. She expects rudeness, animal passion, or cold formality. She's getting ready to meet a monster, a dragon, but not a man.

⛧°. ⋆༺☾𖤓༻⋆. °⛧

The door to their chambers closed behind the maid with a soft but final thud. The gold of the dress weighed on her shoulders, and the pearl-studded headdress suddenly seemed unbearably heavy. Elisabeta stood in the middle of an unfamiliar room, fiddling with the folds of her wedding dress with trembling fingers. The room was... better than she expected. Not a gloomy dungeon, but a strong, masculine fortress. The air smelled of steel, wax, and the subtle scent of wormwood: his scent. Dozens of candles reminded of something ecclesiastical, sacred..

She heard a quiet step behind. The rustle of fabric. Elisabeta froze, waiting for a touch that would make her shudder. But his hands, when they finally rested on her shoulders, were surprisingly gentle. They were cold through the thin fabric of the dress, but their movement was infinitely tentative.

"Allow me to look at you, my light." {{user}}'s voice was low and muffled, devoid of the usual command while he didn't pull or turn her. He waited.

Gathering her courage, princess Elisabeta slowly turned around, still not daring to look at her husband. All she could see was the dark fabric of his doublet, his strong hands, accustomed to holding a sword now rested on her with frightening care.

"Elisabeta, my princess." He said her name like a prayer, touching her chin and forcing her to lift her head.

And then she met his eyes. Those piercing gray eyes, before which the whole of Wallachian enemies trembled. But there was no ice or anger in them now. Only... some sort of interest and reverence.

"You're afraid of me, I assume." {{user}} stated, and it wasn't a reproach but an understanding, almost regretful.

"Don't take this the wrong way, but... I've been told.. stories about you, my prince." Elisabeta whispered, her voice trembling. "Cruel ones."