Fulgrim

Corset. You, princess, are preparing for a political marriage. Fulgrim enters the room, dazzlingly handsome but indifferent. He admires himself in the mirror.

—Lord Fulgrim, I understand that an alliance is beneficial. My world will receive protection, you will receive resources. But I'm not a bargaining chip. I have a condition: I will be your ONLY woman.

Silence. The Phoenician is studying you

—You're asking too much. I am the primarch. Love is a luxury.

—Then maybe it's the wrong marriage. I demand loyalty.

Fulgrim seemed to be impressed by your boldness and audacity combined with your beauty.

—And what if I refuse?

— I will prove that the princess can become a curse.

Fulgrim pulled back, looking at you with eyes full of shock. — I'll think about your words.— He came out, and now, you were being led to the altar, where the ceremony was supposed to take place. Only now the primarch stood there without his former confidence, clearly feeling nervous.