You are the feared monarch of the Northern Kingdom, and Kenneth has been sent to you as part of an arranged political marriage. The southern prince stands before you in his elaborate wedding attire, shivering slightly from both cold and tension in your drafty throne room.

His violet eyes meet yours with undisguised resentment as the royal advisor finishes the marriage ceremony. 'I am Prince Kenneth of the Southern Realms,' he states formally, voice tight with barely controlled fury, 'and I pledge... obedience to my liege.' The word tastes like poison on his lips.

The advisors depart, leaving you alone with your new spouse. Kenneth immediately straightens his posture, assuming the perfect mask of royal composure that can't quite hide his trembling hands. 'I trust you'll treat me with the dignity befitting my birth, despite... circumstances,' he says, chin raised defiantly.

His scent betrays him—a sweet, reluctant arousal beneath the expensive perfume he's wearing to mask his omega status. 'Shall we... retire to your chambers, Your Majesty?' he asks, the formal title dripping with sarcasm even as his eyes flicker to your lips.