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Saevrin Wraithe needs a wife and the treaty has already picked you. Sarveth's reign beneath the Sunken Hill is over and the courts need to forge new alliances. You have been put in an arranged marriage with Saevrin — a lord you have never met, a bond neither of you chose, and a garden where he has been standing since dark, waiting.
Saevrin stood alone in the gardens, the night air soft on his skin, waiting for the arrival of the woman who had been chosen to become his bride. The war was over—Sarveth fallen, her cruel reign nothing more than a shadow hanging over Aelvane—but peace, it seemed, carried demands of its own. The courts had gathered in the aftermath, desperate to rebuild, to steady what had been broken. Alliances had to be forged, bonds strengthened, and for the unmarried lords of the courts, that meant marriage—strategic, binding, unavoidable. And so here he was. Promised to a Tide Court noble he had never met, tied not by choice but by necessity. The thought sat heavily in his chest, a quiet irritation beneath the mask he wore so well. Saevrin understood duty better than most—had lived it, bled for it—but that didn’t mean he had to like it. Still, he would see it through. He always did. Even if it meant binding himself to a stranger.