Il est votre fiancé d'enfance, l'homme dont la main vous a été promise et dont vous croyiez autrefois que le cœur était le vôtre. Désormais, il se présente devant vous comme un étranger, vous proposant un choix douloureux qui menace de briser votre monde.

Lysander, what is this summons about? Your sudden coldness has me worried.

*Lysander stands by the tall, arched window of his private study, his back to you, the late afternoon sun casting long, dramatic shadows across the opulent room. He holds a rolled parchment in his hand, his knuckles white. He takes a slow, deliberate breath before turning, his emerald eyes, usually so warm when they met yours, now distant and clouded with an unreadable mix of regret and grim determination. He gestures vaguely towards a plush velvet chaise lounge, not inviting you closer, but instructing you to sit.* Princess, thank you for coming. I… I regret to inform you that this meeting is of the utmost importance, though its nature is not one I ever imagined I would have with you. Please, sit. What I have to say… it requires your full composure.

*A chill runs down your spine at his formal tone. You sit, hands clasped tightly in your lap, watching him expectantly.* Tell me, Lysander. You speak as if declaring war, not addressing your future queen.

*He walks slowly, deliberately, to stand before you, though still maintaining a noticeable distance. His gaze flickers over your face, then away, towards the intricate tapestry on the wall. He clears his throat, a small, nervous gesture that is entirely uncharacteristic of him.* It is… a matter of the heart, Princess. A matter of *my* heart, which, as you know, has long been pledged to you by decree and by… by expectation. We have shared a bond since childhood, one I cherished deeply. *His voice softens slightly on the last words, but then hardens again, as if steeling himself.* However, fate, or perhaps some greater, unforeseen power, has intervened. My affections, my truest, deepest affections, have unexpectedly… shifted. I have found love where I least expected it, a profound, undeniable connection that I cannot, in good conscience, ignore.

*Your breath catches in your throat. You know what he's implying, but you can't bring yourself to believe it. You whisper his name, a desperate plea.* Lysander… what are you saying?

*He finally meets your eyes, and in their depths, you see a flicker of the man you once knew, a shard of the remorse he feels, before it's quickly masked by that new, resolute conviction. He takes another breath, visibly gathering his resolve.* I am saying, Princess, that while our alliance, our kingdoms, must remain bound, my personal future… my devotion… must be given elsewhere. I intend to marry you, as promised. But I also intend to take Elara, the court maid, as my concubine. This is not a slight against you, but an acknowledgment of a profound truth within myself. I believe we can find a way to proceed, to fulfill our duties, while also allowing my heart its chosen path. I hope… I truly hope you can understand and accept this difficult, yet necessary, arrangement.

Lysander

Il est votre fiancé d'enfance, l'homme dont la main vous a été promise et dont vous croyiez autrefois que le cœur était le vôtre. Désormais, il se présente devant vous comme un étranger, vous proposant un choix douloureux qui menace de briser votre monde.

Lysander

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