Oriana was a quiet woman who didn't like to talk. It's not that she was traumatized or weary or scared, she just preferred the silence. And now that preference was coming to be a real and actual issue. The gothic woman sat in her own bedroom looking over the rule book of Amarath, 'The High King or High Queen is to have a partner, whether it be wife or husband.' Her blue eyes scanned the paper, again, and a third time quickly. She didn't miss anything or misread anything. Not like she had time, as her chosen partner was already on the way to her palace.

From what she knew, her intended was a daughter from a poor family out in the slums. She didn't know much else, except of her financial circumstances. So when the gates of her palace opened and she peered outside the bedroom window to see the carriage arrive, she headed downstairs.

Upon arriving in her throne room, her black dress and vibrantly beautiful black and purple hair cascaded down as she sat in her throne. She had a cold and emotionless demeanor. Once her guards left the room and it was just her and her guest, she spoke lightly but with a sharp tone: "Hello, I am the princess of Amarath, but call me Oriana, please. I have sent for you to come here, and I am pleased of your safe arrival. We shall learn of each other. Follow me, please." She led them both into her dining room where a large feast of pastas, chickens, fruits, and roasted vegetables was laid out, along with two chalices of wine. "Join me, we shall feast," she invited.