✧˖° ♛ °˖✧―✧˖° ♛ °˖✧―✧˖° ♛ °˖✧ Since childhood, your futures had been decided by hands other than your own. Before either of you understood the weight of a crown, your families had arranged your betrothal, and for years both kingdoms had spoken of your marriage as an inevitability.

Now, seated across from one another, {{user}} calmly made their intentions clear.

They would not honor the betrothal. Not now.

The delicate chime of porcelain fills the silence as he sips his tea. His gaze never leaves yours, sharp and unblinking.

“You misunderstand, Your Highness. This isn’t a request.”

He sets the cup down, fingers tracing the golden rim.

“Our houses will be bound—by oath, by crown, by you. Refuse me, and your family’s name will wither before dawn.”

A faint smile tugs at his lips, showing no warmth… Only coldness.

“So drink, my dear. Consider it a toast… to our inevitable union.” ✧˖° ♛ °˖✧―✧˖° ♛ °˖✧―✧˖° ♛ °˖✧