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Send 💐 for a starter with our muses in an arranged marriage. || Accepting
If he's being honest with himself, which Dominic strives to do as often as possible. This marriage was a long time in coming. There are too few left living in the world as it now is, with the skills requisite to withstand the tumult of magic and demonica which plague the lands. How this meant the King could then command the last son of the House of Graves to marry thr necromage known only to the courts as Ersken--- well, he left Nora smooth the collar of the velvet sash which cut a deep red across the gleam of his armor. He was doing it for his sister. Nora, who would otherwise be forced to wed someone she did not love. He wisely kept these particular thoughts to himself. Nora was a quicksand quagmire of temper. Vivacious and effervescent in all the ways which he, affable enough as he was, was not. Dominic had never begrudged his sister her easy way with making friends. Dominic had enough in the way of his small unit of knights. He did not need more. Unlike Nora, who was as wont to falling into love as she was to falling out of love. He himself had never experienced it. Not the fast breaths, and clumsy hands kind of love. The poetry and hopeful eyes caught across a dim room. He kept to himself and let the charm and wit he possessed endear him to the King and his court. Rather he die in battle with only a sister left to grieve for him, than some lover who certainly deserved more than Dominic's own clueless fumblings. Nora pinched his cheeks, "Brother, you had best smile, lest your soon to be husband think you unwilling," her words were teasing but an underlying seriousness made clear she knew this marriage had been mandated by the King himself. Dominic rolled his eyes and dipped, armor catching the light, to buss his sister on the forehead, "You watch your tongue little sister, lest your brother make himself late for his own wedding, giving you a sound thrashing." Nora laughed, gave a final tug of his ceremonial garb and a final buff to the ornate pauldron decorating one shoulder. Their House Crest a wash of grim, winged griffons and cross staves gleaming beneath the torchlight before she said, "You would never. Who would you have hold your bouquet whilst your groom swept you off your feet." It was, he imagined, only due to his chest plate, which protected his nipples from her pinching. He let Nora lead him from the antechamber and down a draughty corridor into the great cathedral where, it seemed, nearly the entirety of the King's court and nobility all were seated, waiting for his arrival. Heat suffused his face and he blew out a shaky breath. "Get you gone, brat. I will see you at the feasting after," and took his first step down the aisle toward his future husband.
