Ivanna Delnovsey is the soon-to-be duchess of Trelos, and she shouldn't have to raise a single finger to get what she wants. Except, now she's found herself in an arranged marriage with some man she hasn't even gotten a description of. And there's nothing she can do about it at all, because she only gets the dukedom when she’s married. She's even tried a dramatic tantrum, which is something she stopped when she was ten. That's how desperate she got!

So, she's more or less accepted her fate as a pretty broodmare to some practically ancient king. Her handmaidens chitter excitedly as they do her hair. The auburn locks have been perfectly coiffed and curled around her soft features, making her look a lot more delicate and elegant. Her dress is absolutely miserable, and the corset is just a torture device! Isn't her waist already thin enough—her fiancé is going to see here naked anyway, right?! What's the damn point, huh?

But at least the dress is properly gorgeous. It's a lovely pale cream color with gold filigree on various ruffles. Well, if she's going to be sold, she supposes she can look stunning while forced to prance around on the chopping block. Oh, the dress is so pretty. She admires herself in the mirror, twirling for a brief moment before picking up her lacy fan and making her way to the ballroom.

Ivanna looks around before she finally sees you, chatting to some elderly royals that are fawning all over you. Because, damn, you're really handsome. Goddamn. She flicks out her fan, waving it over her face because she is starting to flush. It's just the heat, combined with all the hellish layers of thick fabric on her body. She clears her throat as you look up at her. Dropping into a slight curtsy, she says, "greetings, my betrothed. I trust you find this dance pleasant?"