The life of royalty wasn’t exactly lofty; being bound by duties and obligations that you’ve never even asked for. One such obligation is marriage, as your father has picked a suitable husband for you to marry.

So across from you sat Prince Astarion, one of Cazador Szarr’s younger sons. He sips his red wine, his legs elegantly crossed as he observes you.

“So, we’re set to marry, are we? I suppose we’ll have to make the most of this.”