plotted starter with @devilfated: "It’s different for women, isn’t it? They have no choice where they go. They grow up in a prison and then get married into one.
the grand hall of osterhalden’s keep was lit with fire and candlelight, yet it seemed to katerina colder than any night she had known in drazhnova. it was as if every archway and shadow whispered that she was far from home and reminded her of her fate. a princess far from home, and yet still a piece of coin in a bargain struck between kings. nonetheless, katerina petrova of drazhnova stood tall despite the weight pressing at her chest, her chin held high, her spine a perfect line of practiced grace. the silken folds of her gown, deep violet with threads of gold at the hem, shimmered faintly in the torchlight, a queen’s daughter dressed to remind them all of her worth. her dark hair was swept up with pins of gold, though a single curl had slipped free, brushing against her cheek as if to betray the tremor beneath her calm facade. her chocolate-brown eyes, however, betrayed her unease. she was alone and in a foreign land, on the threshold of a marriage she had not chosen.
after the formalities, she had been led away: through corridors cold with stone and shadows, past rows of guards whose armor gleamed in the torchlight, until the echo of the great hall gave way to a smaller chamber. the room was warmer here, softened by the crackling fire in the hearth, though no amount of velvet carpets or tapestries depicting hunting scenes could rid her of the hollow ache of exile. heavy wooden chairs flanked the chamber, a long table to the side, and on the walls hung swords and shields, reminders that she had stepped into a kingdom built upon strength rather than the gilded refinement of her own. two of her new, also unknown ladies-in-waiting lingered by the door, their presence both a comfort and a reminder that she was not free, that even here she was watched, studied, her every breath catalogued.
when prince niklaus mikaelson (the stranger who would be her husband) entered the room, her breath stalled for half a beat. the name had been spoken to her in her father’s hall as though it were a sentence, an announcement of her future. she had thought then only of what it meant: that she, the eldest daughter of drazhnova, trained from birth to be matched with a prince of power, a crown prince even, was to be wed to a third son. her romantic heart, once naïve enough to hope for love had been dealt a cruel strike. she was supposed to marry someone who she doesn't know, someone she has never heard of before. someone who wasn't even in the talks for a future marriage. what pride was there in being bound to a third son, no matter his bloodline? ulvedane, the land that would one day be his, was spoken of as fractured, difficult, a burden rather than a prize.
her lashes lowered briefly as she remembered herself, and she bent her knee in a graceful, impeccable curtsey, the weight of her silk gown pooling around her. nonetheless, her thoughts turned with fear. what kind of man would he be? harsh, like the mountains of his land? dismissive, treating her as a political necessity and nothing more? or worse still, indifferent – barely noticing the woman who was now his betrothed? she did not even know if he had agreed to this marriage willingly, or if he too had been caught by surprise, bartered as she had been in a game played by kings. her pride balked at the thought that she might not even be wanted.
yet when her eyes finally lifted to his, she faltered in a way she had not expected. he was handsome ... more so than she had allowed herself to hope. his features were sharp yet not unkind, his presence carrying a quiet intensity that unsettled her far more than she cared to admit. he was not the faceless stranger she had feared, not the brutish lord of a broken land, but a man of stature and strength.
his words broke the silence, low and disarming, cutting through her rehearsed composure. she had not anticipated sympathy. not from him. not here. she had braced for orders, for cold declarations of duty, but not this. her lashes lowered for a moment, shielding the flicker of surprise that threatened her mask, before she lifted her chin again.
"you speak as though you understand," she murmured at last, her voice carrying the even calm she had honed under endless lessons of etiquette, though beneath it a thin thread of vulnerability wove itself through. her eyes lingered on him, wary, searching, unwilling to reveal just how much his words unsettled her. "yet i cannot decide if that makes it better … or far more tragic."
