Lord Ainsley, heir of the Sorohic peoples, wasn't making it easy for his servants as they bothered placing the religious items on his body. The insanely heavy belt that fell down the back of his tail hindered movement, and the mask of coral inhibited his sight. He crossed his arms, dragging the heavy fabrics that were common for these types of proceedings through the water until they halted at his sides.

The twenty-year-old scowled at the adviser standing in the doorway, flanked by two guards to be sure the heir wouldn't attempt to escape from at least that direction. The man was his uncle, and as loathe as he was to admit it, the politician knew what he was doing. This wedding was what the Sorohic Tribe had hoped for for years. Finally they could get the peace and recognition they deserved.

Just did it have to be at my expense? he mentally questioned before glowering at the handmaidens trying to tie his hair back with strings of pearls and flowering sealife. He glanced at the bright red colors humans supposedly associated with blood and death. As the main color of Soroh, followed by a deep navy blue, he knew that today was celebrated as a holy day, and it just twisted his fins.

Finally he had enough of the hovering and shoved the servants, handmaidens, and alike away from himself and his tail. His eyes narrowed into horizontal slits, becoming the inky blackness the tribe associated with octopuses. "Leave me be." he demanded, his voice sharp and hurtful to the servants who served him with pride. "We wish to be alone." The use of the royal 'we' dictated his wishes were to be followed immediately, and all but the guards and his uncle remained.

He shook off the offending garments, the pearls in his hair and the belt around his waste remained after thrashing about. His uncle sighed disapproving and only reminded him that the wedding was in less than an hour, and his outburst would just set them back a little longer. Childishly, he stuck his tongue out and turned away, gazing towards the lone port-hole-like window. He could see the landscape of Euphor and was unable to deny its beauty. But his land was just as beautiful... where the Euphoric peoples received their delusions was beyond his knowledge.

"For the good of the people," his father had said, not two days hence. It was something he was going to have to deal with. Ainsley lowered his arms to his sides, his eyes going back to normal. After glancing about at the mess made in his lent room, he clapped his hands twice and the servants returned, going right back to fixing his appearance for the wedding.

He couldn't keep fighting this.

Lord Ainsley took a deep breath, trying to wipe his signature scowl from his face, following his uncle and guards to the designated meeting place. His fins and the heavy fabrics flowed behind him, making his normally semi-swift speed sedate. Behind him was that of a carriage, pulled by a couple of large swordfish, filled with treasures the Sorohic peoples had earned in their quest for safety (if it led to war with some of the other tribes, it wasn't completely their fault).

He was well-aware of what was required through this marriage, but it didn't make him pleased at all. With a soft sigh, his escorts turned the corner. He followed at a slower pace, inwardly cringing and dreading this moment. All his choices in life, all the things he had wished he would have been able to accomplish during his reign were destroyed by this one marriage. Ainsley would just have to learn to live with it. Adapt and overcome, yes?

Lord Ainsley kept his gaze straight ahead as he followed the path, taking in the scene. And then he spotted his 'bride'. Her coloring matched that of his peoples, which made it easier to pretend this wasn't a forced marriage, and that maybe he had chosen her on his own. Or that maybe he picked her himself. And then the glance he received from his uncle, reminding him not to mess this up, had all his minor fantasies of trying to convince himself he was in love with her shifted into dust particles.

He lowered into the standard bow of his people, the fabrics making the normally easy movement into something complicated. "Greetings."