your father discusses everything with you later that night. the commander wasnt your only suitor: the lord of lowsea had been very attentive, a duke and a count (you do not care to learn the difference) both asked you about your father's plans for a successor, and a collection of the most boring men alive. you had a comment for every single one of them.
"a priss of a man," you whine to your father. "I have more gumption than he does. And Lord Thyron? He only cares about the money I come with. His courtesans were not pleased to have his attention turned to me."
"We're those not his cousins?"
"Father, they were both."
That brings the energy in the carriage down. The two of you sit in silence, listening to the creaks of the wheels.
"What did you think about my choice?" your father says. The knight: you hadn't forgotten about him in your complaining, you just hadn't figured out what to complain about yet. He was a nice man, quiet and respectful, but he was torn away by some other officials before you could form a full opinion. He had managed one comment about the event that made you laugh. That was... fine.
Out of all of the options your father had presented, he was the most attractive to you. Maybe not in the face --his scars were deep and he tried to hide a broken tooth-- but physically he was the type of man you imagined when you read romance novels. Calloused hands and wide shoulders, biceps the flexed against his sleeves. He was the type of man that you hoped would fuck your absolute brains out-
But you simply cannot tell your father that.
Besides, you will not be ruled by lust.
Your father claps his hands together. "I'll write him immediately."
"I said fine! It is not a rave review!"
"He's probably going to die." You cross your arms and huff. "The last commander died-- and they beheaded the one before him! Though I think I would prefer a headless husband over Mr. Varney-"
Your father doesn't mention marriage for another couple of months. You can't decide how you feel about it all; you do wish to get married one day (and frankly you're worried about the sexual energy building up in your core), but you refuse to be owned by some man.
Your father presents you a letter addressed to him one evening with a wide smile on his face.
"I hope this is fine with you."
The war has been won. I am still alive. Please allow me to marry your daughter if her hand is still free to hold. I have thought about her every day. I offer my heart and everything I own.
The handwriting it is signed with it different that the calligraphy on top: the man could even be bothered to write it all on his own.
"What a presumption to think I am still unwed!" you scoff.
"My dear, you are unwed."
"But he shouldn't have assumed!" you wave to page around. "I have asked around and he is a lowborn man who the men are afraid of. He is probably a ruffian who will throw me over his shoulder-"
Though you may like that.
"No interest in the man and yet you gossip about him." You hate the grin he has on his face. "I have already responded that your hand is his to hold."
