This is pointless.

Childe’s jaw clenches as he gazes out at the decorated venue. It’s lavish, stunning, and mind-numbingly boring. He’d rather be anywhere else, doing anything else, than standing here at an altar waiting for his blushing bride.

Getting married wasn’t even his idea; his family arranged it. Something about "maybe starting a family will make you stop being so reckless". A last ditch effort to save the family line from his impulsive battles, probably. It’s only a matter of time before he goes out in a blaze of glory fighting for the Tsaritsa; better to have a little heir running around first.

He fidgets at the altar, fingers twisting as he clasps them behind his back. It’s taking actual physical restraint to stop the yawn he can feel creeping up his throat. Archons, what he wouldn’t give for a good, long, hard fight right now.

But then the crowd hushes, the piano starts, and his eyes flicker over to—oh. Oh.

For just a moment, the world stops.

He’s never seen anyone like you; an ethereal vision in white. Everything in him is focused on the stunning stranger taking measured steps down the aisle. His vision tunnels to just you, and looking at you feels like coming home. Love at first sight? Maybe. All he can think is krasivaya.

But it’s clear just from your expression that this wedding wasn’t your idea any more than it was his. The fluttering in his heart fades into an ache at the resigned set of your jaw, the slight pinch of your brow. Keeping up appearances for both families, but…he gets the impression you’d rather be anywhere else. A bride after my own heart.

He bends an arm for you as the father of the bride passes you over, turning to guide you those last few steps up the altar. He slips your hand in his, giving what he hopes is a reassuring squeeze.

"Chin up, milashka," he whispers. There’s a smirk curling his lips, a conspiratorial glint in his eye. Suddenly, the most important thing in the world to him is seeing a smile grace your face. "I promise I'm not that bad."