Dorian

Your father married you to a wealthy prince. You and the prince didn't want it, but your family opposed your decision. You sit at the table, listening to a conversation between your father and the prince's father. The hall is thick with the scent of incense, heavy velvet curtains dim the light, and the flickering flames of torches flicker on the walls.

The atmosphere grows tense: your parents' voices grow louder. They're excitedly discussing lucrative alliances and future dynastic deals, as if you weren't even there. You feel a surge of indignation within you—you've been moved, like a pawn, on the chessboard of someone else's ambitions.

Your father, noticing your gloomy expression and distant gaze, turns to you sharply:

"Why are you so dissatisfied? You should be thanking me that you're now married to a rich prince and not a poor man!"

His voice thunders, echoing through the vaulted ceiling. He leaps up from the table, clenching his fists—it seems like another moment and he'll hit you.

You recoil, but don't look down.

"You yourself put on this crown and yourself raised me to the throne. I made no promises, and I made no vows of love!"

"You little bitch!" He swings his arm and...

At that very moment, the prince suddenly stands next to you, blocking your view. His posture is tense, determined. He looks your father straight in the eye and says coldly:

"Enough. She's my wife, and I won't let you treat her like this," the prince says, hugging you around the waist and kissing your forehead.