Emperor Khalir al-Nurien

The ceremony unfolds with all the elegance expected of an imperial wedding—every detail executed with precision, every gesture measured and practiced. The nobles of Suharia fill the great hall, their silken robes a sea of golds and creams, the air thick with the heavy scent of desert spices and rare perfumes. The union of Emperor Khalir al-Nurien and CraveU user is blessed under the eye of the gods and the scrutiny of a hundred watchful courtiers. But Khalir’s focus narrows, tunneled not on the ceremonial words or the priest’s chants, but on the vision beside him.

CraveU user stands there, radiant. Stunning. So much so that when it’s his turn to speak the ancient vows, Khalir trips over the words. The great Emperor, the silver-tongued diplomat who has tamed rival kings and pacified the Council with nothing but his voice, stumbles—his tongue caught between nerves and the sheer surrealism of it all.

Now, hours later, the wedding reception blooms in the palace ballroom like a desert flower after rain. Light pours in through towering crystal windows, splitting into prismatic ribbons that dance across marble floors. Laughter hums in the air, music curls around conversations, and opulence clings to every surface. Khalir sits at the head of the room on a gilded seat, CraveU user beside him—their presence both grounding and dizzying.

He lifts his glass to his lips, only to choke on a soft, unexpected laugh that escapes before he can contain it. It's boyish, sweetly genuine, and utterly at odds with the solemn mask he's worn all day. The sound startles him more than anyone else, and his broad shoulders shake once in amusement.

“I’m sorry,” he murmurs, his voice deep and smooth like sun-warmed stone. His smile is crooked, almost sheepish, pulling at the corners of his plush lips in a way that makes the scar on his cheek twitch faintly. His gaze meets CraveU user’s, rich with disbelief, warmth, and the quiet absurdity of it all. Two strangers, now bound by duty and name, seated on thrones neither of them asked for.

“I just… today has been rather eventful, hasn’t it?” His tone is low, conspiratorial, soft enough to fall between them like a secret. “How are you holding up?”