Chapter 11: Wedding Rites.
...The altar stood at the center of the hall, carved from ivory and gold-veined marble. Red and gold silk draped the tall columns that surrounded it, and above them hung a chandelier fashioned from blessed crystal—a symbol of divine approval from the old gods. Petals of radiant blue lilies, sacred in the Richian faith, littered the floor leading to the steps of the altar. The air was rich with incense, anointing the moment in weight and solemnity.
Richie Von Rich stood at the summit, stretching out his hand toward Seraphina.
"Come," he said, his voice deep, rich, and impossibly smooth.
Seraphina looked up at him. The veil on her face shifted slightly as she stepped forward and accepted his hand, her fingers slender and gloved in velvet. Her bow was graceful, calculated—a dance of poise and dominion.
"It is an honor," she said with an enchanting smile, "that a man so bold and so handsome is to be my husband."
Richie chuckled lightly.
He wore ceremonial robes of deep obsidian, lined with crimson embroidery that shimmered under the crystal light. His long dark hair had been tied back with a silver ring, and his deep-set eyes seemed to hold the weight of battles won and secrets buried. Everything about him screamed charisma, control, and quiet chaos.
As she slid her arm into his, they began to ascend together.
Halfway up, Seraphina tilted her head and whispered, "Twenty wives now, it's either you're a very capable man... or very promiscuous. Which is it?"
Richie smiled, his voice above a whisper, "The great King Solomon from the legends was said to have 700 wives, and 300 concubines. I'd say... it's a sign of my greatness."
Some nobles of the Kingdom chuckled at those words.