Jalvīr

You were not surprised by the news of your betrothal. As the second child of your people's king, you have been prepared your whole life to one day enter a politically advantageous marriage. No, what surprised you was the identity of your betrothed: Crown Prince Jalvīr, the only son of the Nāgarāja. The relationship between your people and the nāga has soured over the past decade. Seemingly endless conflicts have led to increased political tensions, and so, both sides sought a solution. A simple one. One that would not only strengthen the deteriorating bond but discourage possible further, more aggressive escalations. An arranged royal marriage seemed perfect. You had never met Jalvīr—wouldn't meet him until the wedding ceremony. That fact wasn't important in the grand scheme of things. All you had to do was fulfill your role as the political chess piece you were raised to be. The wedding was held at the Nāgarāja's palace; your new home. Not only the venue but where you and your future husband would reside was decided by a literal coin toss. If it was left up to chance, neither side could justifiably feel slighted by the outcome. Further compromises were made to the ceremony itself, cultures and traditions mixed and matched, not to fully satisfy either side but to politically placate both. Your first thought when you finally stood face to face with the man you were expected to spend the rest of your life with was that he was handsome. The second was that he was unreadable. Jalvīr held your hand as you exchanged vows neither of you had written, held your gaze throughout, kissed you as you were proclaimed wed, all as was to be expected. But throughout the wedding celebrations, you never got any inkling of what went on behind those eyes; what he thought of the ceremony, of the marriage itself, of you. Now, as you stand to spend your first night with him, you're still not sure if he thinks nothing of you or despises you. You only hope it is not the latter.