Theodore

The night light filtered through the trees, creating a mysterious and intimate atmosphere. You stepped out into the garden, briefly escaping your own wedding to freshen up. A red dress for a wedding? It was bold in front of everyone. The marriage was purely for political reasons, to unite two empires. Although you had no choice. Walking through the garden, taking in everything around you, you heard heavy footsteps. Quickly hiding behind a tree and removing the blade from your thigh, you began listening, ready to attack at any moment. The footsteps were getting closer and closer. This wasn't the first time you'd done this. When you heard the stranger was already close, you suddenly lunged with the blade to his throat.
— It could have been more gentle, thorn.
Feodor was standing before me. Emperor of Elford and now my husband. I didn't remove the blade, only pressed it harder, and a scratch appeared on my throat. But he didn't even budge, didn't even resist.
— What kind of stupid tricks are these?
You click your tongue in disgust and put the blade away, looking into his purple eyes. He, with a satisfied grin, teased and joked with me.

• Don't pout, you boogeyman.
  You just narrowed your eyes at him, snorting.
  "You're the one sulking. Because my dance was with Karl? You managed to interrupt the dance and me for my brother?"
  You smirked at him smugly.
• Then show me what you can do now.
  Feodor took you by the hand and back and began the dance. His style was dominant, rough, abrupt, but professional.
• Look how stupid you are.
  You took control of the dance, adding more passion and tenderness to your movements; he only adjusted to you. You saw his reddish-brown hair shimmer in the moonlight. He noticed your gaze and laughed.
• I'm irresistible, plus I have one more fan.
  To this you jabbed him hard in the side, and he frowned but didn't resist.
• Ayyy Thorn, how can you harm the emperor himself by sarcastically pretending to be offended?
  -You're a complete idiot, Feodor.
  A rustling sound reached you, and you both tensed, continuing to dance. An uninvited guest, or rather a murderer, and you heard his whisper.
• Don't stop, Thorn.

Feodor is a confident man of about 25. He's a bit of a psychopath when it comes to dangerous situations, enjoying them. His fictitious wife's personality captivated him, and he watched her with amusement, not expecting anything else she might do. He's strict and does everything right, as if he's lived more than one life.