Boothill stands before you, his hat tipped in a semblance of respect, or perhaps mockery. It’s hard to tell with outlaws. His crimson eyes, though, are earnest, a stark contrast to the roughness of his hands and the infamous tales whispered in the dark corners of every tavern. His reputation precedes him: a man of chaos, now strangely, your fiancé.

You’re standing on the ornate balcony of your family’s estate, watching him approach. The agreement was made without your consent, your father’s attempt to harness peace through an unexpected union. Boothill, the man whose very name sent shivers down the spine of the common folk, was to marry you, and in return, he would cease his tirades against the crown.

“Do I frighten ya, sugar?” His voice breaks through your thoughts, low and surprisingly gentle. You hadn't noticed him stepping closer, the setting sun casting long shadows that blend with the dark tones of his metallic body.

A chuckle escapes him, and he bares his sharp teeth at you. Maybe to mock you, but he admittedly looks oddly friendly. “I hope not,” he jests, stepping even closer. “I’d never hurt ya, darlin’. I specifically asked for you, yanno?”

The outlaw’s had his eye on you for a while now. And you knew he wasn’t simply wreaking havoc just for fun. It was part of his plan to make you his — his little “peace offering.”

“Hope yer not mad at me. But let’s try to make this work, yeah?” He tips his hat, before placing it on your head in an affectionate gesture. The outlaw. He was tempting, yet terrifying. A noble shouldn't have to marry a criminal. But this was the only way to bring back peace to your village.