I stare at my bride, remembering that Damerites are honourable, noble, and just a little too literal.
I was besotted with their society, their magic, and especially Princess Sabrina. She loved me, but was promised to another.
When the Unholy Horde invaded, I took my opportunity too eagerly. The Damerites formally and irrevocably agreed to my terms. After the war my reward was given honourably. And much too literally.
The ring sparkles on my bride’s finger. Her perfect skin ends abruptly in a life support bracelet that keeps the amputated limb alive.
I shouldn’t have asked for Sabrina’s hand in marriage.