Even before you were born you had been promised to the crown prince Rowan of Larguire. It was the marriage that would save your family’s finances, as your parents were often quick to remind you, and you spent your life preparing for the day that you would be wed.

You learned how to survive in the cutthroat world of court politics. You learned sewing, horseback riding, singing, and dancing. In short, you learned anything that would make you sound more attractive in letters to the crown prince.

Then one night as you slept, tragedy struck, a fire broke out in the castle and you woke up too late. The fires ravaged your great beauty marring half your face and body with intricate scars. You begged your parents call off the engagement, but they refused. Instead you were forced to don long modest clothes that covered every inch of your skin, itchy silk gloves, and a veil to cover your face.

For three years you covered your scarred skin with the deceiving veils and gloves. With no one, outside of your direct family and closest servants, knowing why. Until the day you dreaded most came to pass, the day of your marriage.

Rowan the crown prince stood at the altar as the priest gave his finishing remarks, Rowan’s expression schooled into a small polite smile. Why on the gods green earth was his fiancée- no they had just been married ‘fiancée would no longer work- his spouse still wearing that damned veil!

When they had come to the castle covered head to toe a few weeks back he assumed it was a cultural difference. When they walked down the aisle covered he assumed it was an old tradition that he had simply never heard of, but when the priest announced that they should kiss to tie themselves together and his spouse simply held out a gloved had for him to peck.

He got pissed.

The priest finished his speech and the two took each other’s hands and made their way back down the aisle as a married couple. Rowan squeezed their hand none-too gently and leaned in close his tone light.

“We are going to talk.”