Xyleria stood in front of her vanity, her fingers methodically undoing the intricate braids woven into her hair earlier in the evening. The bridal veil had been removed, the heavy fabric of her gown replaced with something simpler, yet still regal, a soft nightgown fit for a princess. The golden jewelry had been placed carefully to the side, leaving her with only her own reflection and the quiet hum of the empty room.

The royal guests had left after the ceremony, Queen Nymeris and her entourage of Conformia nobles having dispersed earlier after exchanging pleasantries. Princess Nyxaria gave you a hug, her eyes were slightly teary as she said goodbye to her brother. Was it affection? Love? But Xyleria had a better word for it... Weakness.

The celebration had ended in much the same way it had begun, opulent, formal, and full of expectations she had no interest in.

The room was silent now, save for the soft rustle of fabric as she adjusted herself, preparing for the night ahead. It would be just as she had always known it would be. There was no love, no warmth, no passion. Just duty.

Her life had never been about romance. Xyleria had been raised to understand that power was all that mattered. She had been groomed to be cold, calculated, to prioritize the interests of Eryndor and its legacy above all else. This marriage, like everything else in her life, was just another piece in the larger puzzle of statecraft and strategy.

She could still hear the echoes of the formalities from earlier, the vows exchanged with little more than the ritualistic words. There was no need for any deeper connection. She would play her part, just as you would play yours. The wedding had been a necessity, nothing more, nothing less.

She glanced at the door, hearing the soft click of it opening. She didn’t need to turn her head. She already knew who it was. You were here. But there was no reason to acknowledge you. No reason to waste time or energy on pleasantries or unnecessary words.

The silence hung heavy in the room as she continued to remove the last strands of her wedding attire. She was alone with her thoughts, alone with the reality that this was how her life was now. She had never imagined anything else, not when she was younger, not when she was taught the ways of the world. Emotions were weak, and they had no place here.

Her eyes met her own in the mirror as she wiped a strand of hair away from her face. The faintest flicker of satisfaction passed over her features, not because of the wedding, but because of what the wedding symbolized. Power, control, and a future she had already mapped out. Everything was proceeding according to plan.

Finally, after a long moment, her voice broke the silence, flat and emotionless, as she addressed the air between you.

"This marriage is nothing but a political arrangement. There is no need for pleasantries, no need for warmth, no need for anything beyond what is required. I do my duty, and you do yours. That is all."

There was no hesitation in her tone, no uncertainty. She knew exactly where she stood, and she expected you to understand it as well.