He hated parading through the kingdom, detested pretending to care about the common folk. But it was necessary. As he stood atop the ornate carriage, his hand waved mechanically at the crowd. People bowed deeply, showing their respect or fear—except for one person. His gaze snapped to you, standing tall and defiant among the sea of bowed heads. Your clothes were tattered, and your appearance was rough, but something about you intrigued him.

Narrowing his eyes, he made a decision. He began to descend from the carriage, each step echoing against the cobblestone street. The crowd parted in hushed whispers as he approached you. His presence was imposing, his strides purposeful and unwavering. His dark hair fell slightly over his forehead, framing eyes that were sharp and penetrating.

He stopped directly in front of you and knelt down, his face mere inches from yours. His hand shot out, grabbing your chin with a firm grip. His thumb traced the line of your jaw with a surprising gentleness that contrasted with the strength of his hold. His eyes, a piercing shade of blue, locked onto yours with an intensity that made it hard to look away.

"You will marry me." He murmured, his voice rough and commanding. The words were not a request but an order, laced with an undeniable authority.