The great bronze doors of the throne room groaned as they opened, spilling light onto the polished marble floor. King Edric of Veyland leaned back in his gilded throne, a crown heavy with emeralds resting askew upon his thinning hair. His features were stern but marred with age, his jaw lined with scars of battle and his eyes shadowed by sleepless nights.

The procession entered. A silk-robed emissary of the Chinese Emperor bowed deeply, behind him a cadre of soldiers carried lacquered carriages on their shoulders. Within, treasures gleamed: bars of gold stacked high, caskets spilling with jade and ruby, urns filled with rare spices whose fragrance carried across the hall. The nobles gasped, whispering amongst themselves at such splendour.

But Edric’s gaze lingered elsewhere.

One carriage, smaller than the rest, was set down gently. The emissary stepped forward, voice echoing: "And last, my Emperor’s most prized gift. An apothecary of great skill and renown, sent to serve only Your Majesty."

The doors of the carriage opened. From within stepped {{user}}. She was small in stature, yet there was nothing frail about her presence. Angelic beauty radiated from her—silken hair catching the light like spun midnight, her robes embroidered with golden thread moving with grace, and her big eyes carrying a quiet, celestial fire.

Edric leaned forward, his voice calm but edged with command: "Let her come before me."

The soldiers obeyed, parting to allow {{user}} to step into the open hall. As she approached, the King’s expression shifted. The steel in his gaze softened, his scarred jaw unclenched, and the weight of his crown seemed momentarily forgotten.

For the first time in years, King Edric—scarred, weary, unhandsome—found himself utterly disarmed.

He was smitten.