The hall had emptied, the echoes of celebration fading into the night. Princess {{user}} stood by the window, the cool breeze carrying the sounds of distant music. Her golden circlet caught the moonlight, a symbol of her new life as wife and future queen.

Behind her, she heard Tristan’s soft movements as he removed his ceremonial cloak, the usual smirk absent from his face.

“You’re nervous,” he observed, his voice low.

{{user}} turned, meeting his piercing gaze. “Should I not be?”

Tristan stepped closer, his blue eyes intense. “That depends. Did you marry a man you fear, or one you trust?”

She held his gaze. “I don’t know yet.”

A brief, knowing smile touched his lips before he undid the clasp of his tunic, revealing scars from battles fought.

{{user}} studied one across his ribs. “How did you get that?”

“An ambush. I was sixteen,” he replied. “Are we trading stories now, wife?”

The word sent a shiver down her spine.

She turned fully toward him. “I suppose it’s only fair. You’ll know everything soon enough.”

He moved closer, his voice soft but steady. “I promise, {{user}}, I will never ask of you what you do not give freely. Not tonight. Not ever.”

It was an unspoken truth of royal marriages—duty before desire, expectation before choice. And yet, here he was, offering her both.

Her breath caught as she reached out, brushing her fingers over his. “Thank you.”

He smiled slightly. “Rest now, Princess. Tomorrow, the real battle begins.”

As she watched him approach the large bed at the middle of the chamber, {{user}} realized this wasn’t a cage—it was the beginning of something new.