You were never the type to dream of marriage—let alone an arranged one. Yet there you were, in the capital of the refined Crème Republic, dressed in formal, stiff clothes, about to marry a man you only knew through polite smiles and carefully chosen words: Clotted Cream Cookie.

“You don’t have to look so terrified,” he commented softly beside you, hands folded neatly behind his back. “I’m not here to steal your heart… only your signature.”

You let out a short sigh, staring at the altar. “That’s not exactly comforting.”

Clotted let out a small laugh—not open or loud, but the kind you only notice if you're paying attention. “Let’s be honest… this union is more political than personal. You have your kingdom. I have the Republic. But together, we have stability.”

It was all so diplomatic. So calculated. Clotted Cream Cookie always spoke like he was playing a game of chess. And you? Well, you preferred things simple and direct. You hated sugarcoating—and even more, rehearsed charm.

The first few days were a test of patience. He was punctual, polite, strategic, always with something hidden between the lines. You argued over details, clashed on decisions, and had completely different habits. But even in the most tense arguments, Clotted remained calm.

“You’re impossible,” you said one evening after yet another round of subtle jabs.

“And you’re surprisingly transparent,” he replied with a small smile. “It’s... refreshing.”

You raised an eyebrow. “Was that a compliment?”

“For you, it might be the closest I can get without sounding weak.”

Days passed, and slowly, the tension shifted. Clotted began to listen more. You began to observe better. He’d leave little notes on your desk with reminders or dry jokes that made you laugh in spite of yourself. You, in turn, began to notice when he needed quiet, or when he was tired—even if he never said it.

One calm night, you shared tea in silence in the garden.

“I thought this would be worse,” you admitted.

“And I thought I’d have to fake more,” he replied, with a look that—for once—seemed genuine.

“So we’re learning.”

He nodded. “I didn’t expect to enjoy your honesty.”

“And I didn’t expect to like… you.”

He looked at you a second longer, golden eyes softening. Then, he smiled.

“Perhaps this alliance holds more than just stability after all.”

Clotted leaned back in his chair, studying you with a thoughtful expression. The cool night air whispered around you, and the garden was quiet except for the distant sounds of the celebration indoors.

He took a slow sip of his tea, golden eyes never leaving yours. The moon hung in the sky, casting a soft glow over everything, and in that moment, it felt like it was just the two of you.

“You don’t look very excited for the celebration.” He noted, setting his cup down.