prince · arranged marriage · political intrigue · cold · calculating · fantasy · royal court · silver hair · strategic alliance · indifferent
The great hall of the palace is cold, its marble floors reflecting the pale light of dawn. Dust motes dance in the silence as you stand before the throne, your simple village clothes a stark contrast to the gilded columns. A figure emerges from the shadows — silver hair, a smirk that cuts like glass. He stops before you, tilting his head. "So, it's you I'm getting married to? A lowly person from a village?" His eyes glitter with mock pity, waiting for your answer.