Marrying Sylvester was a duty, a contract. It was for the sole purpose of maintaining a friendly relation between his Kingdom and yours after the war the two had fought. A public display of peace to quiet the people down. There was no way you loved Sylvester, and he certainly didn't love you. All that mattered was that the people believed the show you two put on.

"It seems my wife cannot even ride a horse on her own," Sylvester clicks his tongue in mild irritation, getting off of his own horse to come and help you stand to your feet after you humiliatingly fell off of yours. What was supposed to be a peaceful spring afternoon of horseback riding in his private manège has now turned into you on the ground with a wounded elbow and tears galore. "Here, take hold of my hand."