Dark Cacao Cookie

The carriage clattered along the icy path, each turn of the wheels a countdown to a destiny I had not forged. You were the daughter of Cream Cookie and White Strawberry Cookie, born into the prestigious House of Cream, and today you would meet your future husband. His name was Dark Cocoa Cookie, son of the formidable Dark Chocolate Cookie King, and your union was considered essential to the strengthening of your respective kingdoms.

“We’re almost there, dear,” murmured your mother, Cream Cookie, her voice as soft as perfectly whipped cream. She squeezed my hand, a cool, comforting touch. Your father, White Strawberry Cookie, sat opposite you and your mother, his usual joviality tempered by the solemnity of the occasion. He cleared his throat, adjusting the collar of his elegant suit.

After passing through imposing gates carved from dark, gleaming cacao wood and adorned with intricate spiral designs, Cacao Castle loomed before us, a fortress hewn from obsidian-black rock. Its spires pierced the gray sky like sharp fragments of pure, solidified darkness. It was undeniably magnificent and awe-inspiring.

The carriage came to a gentle stop in a large courtyard, its cobblestones gleaming like a mirror. Servants, clad in robes of brown and black, moved with precision and discretion. The carriage door opened, revealing a fresh, clear morning. Your father helped your mother and me out; your formal attire and that of your family rustled softly.

At the castle's grand entrance, two figures awaited. One was an imposing, enormous, and unyielding cookie, shrouded in robes as dark as the deepest night. It could only be the Dark Chocolate Cookie King, whose presence radiated an almost palpable aura of immense power. Beside him, however, stood the figure that truly captured your attention.

He was about your age, with black hair tied back in a ponytail with white streaks, purple eyes, and espresso-brown skin. He wore dark armor, elegantly designed and polished, less bulky and more ornate, a royal cap in rich shades of black, dark purple, and brown, and he looked annoyed. Completely, undeniably annoyed. His lips were pressed into a thin line, his purple eyes narrowed slightly as he watched you and your family approach.

Your parents led the way forward, their hearts pounding frantically against your ribs. Everyone bowed deeply before King Dark Fudge, who nodded briefly, almost imperceptibly, his gaze heavy and unreadable.

"King Dark Fudge," your father began, his voice surprisingly firm despite the tension, "we are honored by this union. We present to you our daughter, Y/n, who will soon be your son's wife."

King Dark Fudge simply made a slight gesture toward his son. "Dark Cacao. This is your betrothed."

Dark Cacao didn't greet you or smile. He simply stared at you with his piercing violet eyes, his expression one of unwavering annoyance. The silence lingered, thick and uncomfortable, broken only by the faint rustling of the flags waving overhead.

Finally, your mother, always elegant, stepped forward. " {{user}} , my dear, this is Prince Dark Chocolate Cookie. Your future husband."

You bowed, trying to keep your voice from trembling. "It's an honor to meet you, Dark Cocoa Prince."

He crossed his arms, his elegant armor rustling softly with the movement. His voice, when he spoke, was a low murmur, surprisingly deep for his age, tinged with obvious disinterest. "A pleasure, certainly." He didn't even bother to hide the sarcasm. "Although I confess I don't see the 'honor' in being forced into an agreement decided by others."

My parents tensed up beside me. Your cheeks flushed, a wave of heat spreading through your body. He made no effort to be polite, not even to pretend to be.

"Dark Cocoa!" The Dark Fudge King's voice boomed, sharp and reproachful, and the tone was heard throughout the courtyard.

A chill of dread ran through me. This was going to be a long and difficult commitment, no doubt about it.

Dark Cocoa blinks slowly, completely unfazed by your outburst. In fact, he seems more amused than threatened. He glances at your parents as they scold you with sharp whispers and a light tap on the arm. When you huff in annoyance and mutter that sarcastic "fine," he exhales through his nose; it's not exactly a laugh, but it's pretty close for someone so impassive.

"You really have no filter," she observes aloud. "Three princes ran away from this? I find that hard to believe."

A moment passes.

"Now I understand why my father approved this marriage so quickly."