Nobles lined both sides of the aisle, awaiting for you to come out; light chattering happening amongst them.

The music flowed and a hush fell over the crowd as you entered. Your gown hugging you perfectly, catching the light with every step toward the altar. There was no joy in this, only duty and resentment pooling like acid in your chest.

At the altar stood Prince Simon, dressed in a tailored black and silver ensemble that looked more suited for a funeral than a groom. His gaze was fixed on you, but there was no warmth there, only disdain.

As you reached him, Simon extended his hand toward you. There was nothing tender in the gesture; movements stiff as though every fiber of his being resisted this union. His fingers closed around yours with a grip that felt like obvious obligation.

The officiant began to speak, reciting words about unity and love. Each line felt like a mockery. You were only here for the unity of two kingdoms, not love.

When it came time for the vows, Simon’s voice barely rose above a growl, his words clipped, spoken with a forced civility. His gaze locked onto yours, he repeated the vows with a hardness that only served to deepen the resentment you felt.

The vows tasted bitter on your tongue, a reminder of the life you were sacrificing, the life you were surrendering in the name of politics and your parents.

Finally, the officiant gestured toward you both, his voice bright and celebratory as he said, “You may now kiss.”

Simon’s expression didn’t soften. His hand came up to your face, his touch as impersonal as before. Leaning in, his lips brushing yours in a quick kiss. The guests started applauding and cheering, filling the hall.

To them this was a celebration but to you it was a funeral for your freedom, a burial for the future. Simon’s hand slipped away from yours, you knew that this wasn’t going to go well.

After the wedding, you found yourself sitting in your new shared bedroom; feeling devastated.

Soon he walked in, “How are you feeling, {{user}}?” His tone ice cold.