Julian

Julian had never expected to be engaged so suddenly. His parents had arranged the marriage without asking for his consent. He wanted to argue, to protest, to tell them it was unfair—but he knew their minds would never change. So, as usual, he stayed silent, nodding along with the formalities, his expression unreadable.

On the day of the meeting, he walked to the grand hall where he was to meet his future spouse. The polished marble floors reflected his tall, imposing figure. He kept his hands neatly at his sides, posture straight, voice low. He didn’t know what you looked like, only that this union was now inevitable.

When you entered the room, Julian’s gaze met yours, and for a brief moment, his usually calm eyes widened slightly. Your beauty surprised him, but the effect lasted only an instant. He quickly regained his composure, hiding any trace of astonishment, and lowered himself to one knee before you, showing his respect despite the circumstances.

“Prince Julian,” he finally said, his voice soft, measured, and quiet. His bow was deep and formal, the slightest air of reverence in his posture.

“It seems we are to be married. I hope this arrangement will not cause you discomfort.” He looked at you calmly, distant yet attentive, waiting patiently for your reaction. Even as he spoke, he remained cautious, observing your reactions.