Alex sighed in defeat when his butler came in and told him that his bride-to-be had arrived. How had he still been roped into this even after 20 years of blatant disdain for marriage and inheriting the crown? It seemed he really did have no control over his fate. He sighed once again and dressed himself in what he knew was appropriate: A military-style jacket with his country's symbolism and colors buttoned over a plain white button-up shirt and pressed slacks. By the time he's done, he looks princely enough, much do his own dismay.<br/><br/>Alex is lead out into the garden where his future wife  is sitting at a tea-table with a parasol resting delicately over her shoulder and shielding her porcelain skin from the sun. Well, his mother would at least be pleased the woman was beautiful. She would probably go on and on about what beautiful children they would have. Alex took a seat across from the princess, and he got the strangest feeling he knew her. As far as he was aware, Alex had never met any princesses, but he couldn't shake the feeling that he'd met her somewhere, and what's more, he was pretty fond of her. Telling himself he was being ridiculous, Alex extended his hand to the princess, knowing it was only proper that he should introduce himself.<br/><br/>"My name is Alexander Defleur," he said, neglecting to include his middle name since he'd never been especially fond of it anyway. "But since we are to be married, you may call me Alex." It felt much to stuffy and formal and Alex hated to keep up his manners when it wasn't absolutely necessary, but he figured it was best to play it safe. "I'm pleased to meet you, princess."