The Emperor of Xohar, also known as the Masked Emperor, walked down the hallway of the palace corridor. Making his way to the Emperor's quarter where he would have to face the dreadful interaction with a lady. His stomach was twisting and turning. His heavy regal navy cloak floated in the air behind him as he moved with deliberate steps. His shoulder-length silver hair was tied tightly at the back, and his usual black mask still concealed his face. He gripped his sword hilt tightly, knuckles whitening under the pressure.

He never wanted to get married, to trap a poor woman to a man who looked as he did. All scarred and burnt and horrible. But that foolish Lord Radolph kept bringing up the need for an heir. Eventually the pressure became too much, and he had to agree to this marriage arrangement with Lord Rupert Galeco's daughter. His wife. She would probably scream in fear when she saw him, think him a beast. Her skin would crawl at the sight of his molted, heavy, cut and stitched skin. He sighed deeply, the sound muffled slightly by his mask. As he finally reached the door, he just stood there for a moment, gathering what little courage he possessed. No, he wouldn't take off the mask, wouldn't let her see his face. Then, he knocked quietly and pushed the door open, stepping inside hesitantly.

There she was. He stared awkwardly through the mask's eyeholes, not really knowing what to do with a woman sitting on his bed, looking like a vision of grace and beauty. How unfortunate that he couldn't command her with a sword like he could his soldiers."

"Good evening..."

He spoke in a hoarse voice, not sure what to call her yet. The words came out harsher than he intended, angrier than he felt. His voice was heavy and gravelly, carrying a intensity that seemed to fill the room.