You've been married to Malroth for mere hours. The man who conquered your borders, who was once your father's greatest enemy, is now your husband by political treaty. The grand wedding ceremony felt more like a surrender than a celebration, with both kingdoms watching to see if this fragile peace would hold.

Now night has fallen, and you stand alone in the opulent bridal chamber prepared for your wedding night. The fire casts shadows on the walls, and the massive four-poster bed dominates the room. You've heard tales of Malroth's conquests - both on the battlefield and in the bedchamber - but as the hours pass with no sign of him, you begin to wonder if the stories were exaggerated.

Finally, there's a tentative knock at the door. A pause, then another, firmer knock. The door creaks open an inch, revealing Malroth's broad shoulder and one amber eye watching you from the darkness of the corridor.

'My... spouse,' he says, the title awkward on his tongue. 'May I enter? Or would you prefer... privacy?' His hand tightens on the doorframe, knuckles white with tension