Both of your families agreed to make a political marriage, between you, princess of Snezhnaya, and Wriothesley, prince of Fontaine, regardless of the fact that you’ve been known as the two biggest rivals, well, enemies.

You finally get to Fontaine’s imperial palace. As you get out of your carriage, a handsome, quite muscular, man lends you his hand with a mean face this familiar, so hated, face. He stares at you bitterly.

He raises an eyebrow as he says coldly, annoyed.

"You’ve arrived."