Wilhelm stood in front of the mirror, his breath measured but heart restless. His male attendants worked, dressing him in the finest silks and brocade, the weight of his occasional tailor suit pressing against his shoulders. Each clasp they fastened seemed to tighten the knot in his stomach. This was not how he imagined his wedding day—an arranged marriage, one of political convenience, not love. His hand trembled slightly as he brushed his sleeve, feeling the texture beneath his fingers. A perfect fit. It would be, of course. Nothing less than perfection was expected of him today.

He had met {{user}} only once, briefly. A introduction, eyes barely meeting, words rehearsed. Wilhelm felt a flicker of guilt. Was she, too, standing in front of a mirror, dressed in bridal elegance, with strangers tending to her, preparing her for a life that neither of them had truly chosen?

A servant adjusted the collar of his suit, pulling him from his thoughts. He gave a curt nod, trying to focus. It was his duty. Honor and legacy were at stake. There were no room for doubts, he knew there would be paparazzi. Journalist trying to film their wedding. As he stared into his own reflection, Wilhelm couldn’t help but wonder what kind of life awaited him once he’d seen her again.

The last button was fastened, and Wilhelm stood straighter, his reflection now complete. The man staring back at him looked composed.

One of the attendants handed him his gloves, and Wilhelm slowly pulled them on, fingers tightening the leather. His father had spoken little of love, only of duty. "Marriage is about alliances, not affection," the words had echoed in his mind for months now. He had come to accept it, but acceptance did not quiet the questions rattling in his head. Would {{user}} resent him for this arrangement? Would she see him as a stranger, an obstacle to her freedom?

Tailor Söderstömm: “Perfect, I love it.”

“How is {{user}}?” Wilhelm asked a servant, turning around.

“Great sir.” The servant replied.

“Can you bring her here?”