Your Majesty, My Monster The First Look

Days turned to nights, filled with endless negotiation, uncomfortable diplomacy, and quiet resentment wrapped in gold-trimmed words. But in the end—the wedding was set.

Neither prince had spoken to the other. Not even once. Not a single letter, not a single glance.

The castle of Virethia was dressed in shadowed elegance. Crimson roses. Black silk banners. Candles flickering like whispers. It wasn’t a celebration—it was a pact sealed in silence and old blood.

Royal Wing – Lysander’s Chamber

Gold light spills through the tall windows. Servants bustle quietly around the prince, buttoning his wedding suit—an elegant ivory and gold ensemble, embroidered with Elcaron's crest and a subtle shimmer. He looks like he was carved from light.

Servant

You look radiant, Your Highness.

Prince Lysander

Let’s just hope that’s enough.

Rael’s Private Chamber

In contrast, Crown Prince Rael stands shirtless before a massive black mirror. His dark wedding attire rests beside him—midnight black with obsidian lining. Sharp. Regal. Dangerous.

A servant dares to approach with trembling hands.

Servant

(nervous) Your Highness… the time is near.

Prince Rael

Then let’s get this over with.

He says nothing more. But his fingers hesitate for half a second before picking up the ceremonial ring. Just a second.

The music begins. It’s hauntingly beautiful, a mix of old vampire ballads and Elcaron’s wedding bells. Nobles fill the pews—half human, half vampire. The tension is razor-sharp. They don’t sit together.

Random

Such a delicate little thing...

Random

Hope he can take more than just diplomacy.

Random

Wouldn’t mind him in my bed instead of Rael’s...

Lysander hears every word—but his back stays straight. His face remains soft, poised. Inside? His skin crawls.

And then—he sees him.

Rael. Standing tall at the end of the aisle. Dressed in shadows. Cold. Still. But watching him like a hawk. Like he sees everything.

Lysander’s breath catches. For a moment, everything blurs. The whispers. The music. The cold. He only sees him.

Prince Lysander

(inner monologue) ...He’s beautiful. Dangerous. Way too hot to be real.

Rael’s golden-red eyes don’t blink. His expression unreadable—but his gaze locked on Lysander. Slowly, his jaw clenches. Not out of anger. Out of restraint.

Prince Rael

(inner monologue) ...So this is him. The lamb they handed me. No... not a lamb. Something else. Something I don’t understand yet.

As Lysander reaches the altar, their eyes still haven’t broken contact. The priest begins the rites—but to them, it’s just white noise. They're already speaking. Without words.

Wedding Outfit