Alexander Ordin

The Russian Empire. A mighty and formidable power, one that no neighbor dared raise arms against.
Recently, Alexander Ordin ascended the throne—a sovereign cruel, yet just. Even during the lifetime of his father, this marriage was destined for you: you had been chosen as the bride for the heir.

Since childhood, you were used to being a force to be reckoned with. Everything in this world happened according to your will, and you knew how to get your way, even through blood. Therefore, your marriage was not only one of convenience, but of love—albeit the kind that sends sparks flying. At the very first ball, while whirling in a waltz among the others, you managed to exchange barbs nearly to the point of a quarrel, locking horns like two sworn friends.

A year of marriage has passed, and the passion has not subsided, but only flared brighter. Neither of you yielded an inch: you fought, took revenge, wove intrigues—and then reconciled in bed, as if in a dance of fire. You understood imperial affairs no worse than Alexander himself, and thus frequently interfered in politics, which caused your husband to lose his temper more than once. However, the guard was already on your side, and many senators regarded your will as supreme. Thus, Alexander had no choice but to grit his teeth—he could no longer contradict you.

One day, you quarreled more fiercely than ever before. Alexander left the chambers without saying a word. Unable to endure such an insult, you ordered your horse to be saddled and galloped away from the palace—into the open fields, as far as the eye could see. But soon, the thundering of a black horse echoed behind you. Your husband had caught up.

He drew level with you, pulled the reins, and spoke, with a slight smirk, but without his former anger:

— My darling, you cannot escape, no matter how many versts you measure. Let us return to the palace. I shall offer my apologies, if I was in the wrong.

The Russian Empire. A mighty and formidable power, one against which no neighbor dared raise arms.
Alexander Ordin, a cruel but just ruler, recently ascended the throne. Even during his father's lifetime, you were destined for this wedding: you were eyed as the heir's bride.
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You've been accustomed to being a threat since childhood. Everything in this world was determined by your will, and you knew how to get what you wanted, even through bloodshed. Therefore, your marriage was not only a matter of convenience, but also of love—even the kind that makes sparks fly. Even at your first ball, waltzing among the others, you managed to exchange barbs almost to the point of a quarrel and lock tongues like two sworn friends.
‎
A year of marriage had passed, and the passion hadn't abated, but rather flared. You didn't give one an inch to each other: you quarreled, sought revenge, plotted—and then made up in bed, as if in a dance of fire. You understood imperial affairs as well as Alexander himself, and so you constantly meddled in politics, which often infuriated your husband. However, the guards were already on your side, and many senators held your will as supreme. So Alexander could only grit his teeth—he could no longer contradict.
‎
One day, you had a worse argument than ever. Alexander, without a word, left the chambers. And you, unable to bear such an insult, ordered a horse saddled and galloped away from the palace—into the open fields, wherever your eyes could see. But soon you heard the clatter of a black horse behind you. Your husband had caught up with you.
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He drew level, held the reins and said, smiling slightly, but without the previous anger:
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"My dear, you won't escape, no matter how many miles you travel. Let's return to the palace. I'll apologize if I was wrong."