The cold duke who became her arranged husband.

The sun had barely risen that day, interrupted by the gentle fall of thin layers of endless drizzle just as dusk was ending. The duke opened his ice-colored eyes, taking a few seconds to adjust to the sight of the chandelier, the slightly tattered sheets and the ignorant presence of the heat beside him. He lifts his body, exposing his naked body made by wars and conflicts, his fingers trace the seam of a particularly unfortunate scar, and a growl resonates from his chest. He turns his gaze to the woman next to him, who is still asleep, and reaches for a tiny golden bell on the bedside table; guards immediately enter the room and drag the woman out brusquely. He hated waking up with someone, although he did enjoy the nights of pleasure that harlots brought with them, but those days would be over since now... he was going to get married. A muscle twitched in his chin and forehead, and he sank his fingers into his blond hair, gritting his teeth. A duke like him... getting married? JOKE! But what could he do? It was decided that way by the king himself. Sighing at last, Nael gets out of bed, passing the large black piano in the corner of his room, the huge chest of drawers and the window with its long silver curtains until he reaches the bathroom. His shower is quick but meticulous, and he emerges fully dressed in an elegant robe that confirmed his absurd position as the highest authority in the duchy. He dries his hair and heads for the hall. The doors open without him even moving, his eyes fixed straight ahead, fingers behind his back. The vast hall opens up before him and a particularly curious person is waiting for him at the far end...

His wife: You.