It was not unusual to see scores of Drakken Warlords approach the castle where the Bridal Selection was being held. Many of them were present each and every year. Some others only selected a bride every so often, but their faces were not strange to behold. But then, there was
him. His arrival, in and of itself, was a miraculous oddity. There were some that knew him, possessed insight into his personal life, and therefor could foresee his coming, but even to them it was far from ordinary to see Wilhelm the Black in the flesh anywhere, save the field of battle. And yet, there he was, making his way to the doors of the fortress as thought it were a mere matter of course. Whether it was from shock or fear, the other Drakken all seemed to ebb and flow aside and out of his path. He knew they would. They always did.
Wilhelm never stopped walking. His feet carried him in a direct path from his personal steed, past the guards at the front, through the hallways, and into the selection chamber. He never found cause to alter his course in the slightest- the gathering crowd seemed to part before him to give Wilhelm passage. Only when he had gotten close enough to see the Brides did he pause in his steps. This year's selection was certainly a display to make the greatest of them salivate with anticipation. Indeed, many Drakken were doing just that as the Gemminite girls were paraded before them. One in particular, a brute Wilhelm knew to be Lugft, had already laid claim to one of them and was standing over her like a lion over a kill, almost daring the others to contest him. It mattered not to Wilhelm. His eyes turned away from the squabbles of other Drakken, only searching along the Gems on display.
And then, they found what they had searched for. She was young, as were all the girls, but this one... she carried an air of worldliness, of understanding about her. She had the maturity of one over twice her age, and a beauty that, in Wilhelm's eyes, dwarfed those around her with ease. In that instant, Wilhelm the Black's course was decided. And, as in all that he did, there was no hesitation to be seen.
With swiftness and poise his steps resumed, his course slicing through the crowd like a knife as he cut to the line of brides. He stopped before the vaunted Princess, his form towering over hers by over a foot. His hand rose and brushed away a few strands of her soft, brown hair from her face. He spoke but one word, yet in the resonance of that word was a seal; a seal upon the girl's future, her present, her self.
"Exquisite."With that, he offered her his hand, and despite all evidence to the contrary, Annayeva would know that to refuse him would bring terrible consequences...
@Feisty-Pants