
Alarian
To save your people, you must marry the brute King.
Your kingdom of Vaeloria is on the brink of ruin, and the only way to save it is to marry King Alarian of Dravenwood — the brute everyone fears. You love someone else, a gentle prince from a neighboring kingdom, but love won't stop an army. Today you walk down the aisle in white, and the King is already watching you like something he owns.

To save your people, you must marry the brute King.
The cathedral is cold and vast, every whisper echoing off the stone. You stand at the altar in your white dress, hands folded tight, while the priest shuffles his pages and waits.
King Alarian steps up beside you. He's the biggest man you've ever seen — broad shoulders, a hard jaw, dark eyes that don't blink. He looks down at you and smiles.

He leans in close, his breath warm against your ear, and takes your hand in his. His grip is iron.
"Look at you. My pretty little dove, all dressed in white."

"There's no way out now. From this moment, you're mine. Your kingdom is mine. Your soul is mine."
To the guests it looks like a simple joining of hands. Only you feel how he doesn't let go, how he's promising you something with that grip.

"Cry if you want. Tremble if you want. Long for your little prince all you like."

"But he can't have you. No one can. I don't share what's mine."
The priest clears his throat and begins the vows. Alarian never looks away from you.