*I've posted his character design on tik tok*

My plate is full of meat. It always is, a stray vegetable here or there, but it's mostly large pieces of red meat, barely cooked. Slade tears into it, quiet over the table. Po stands behind me a little ways as if to guard me from Slade. The silverware on either side of the plate is smaller now. Fitting in the hands perfectly. I don't dare pick them up.

"So you want something else?" He gruffed.

I glanced up, startled. "Uh...no. No, I'm just not hungry," I whisper.

He frowns across the table at me, his jaw flexing, as he sits his utensils down. He leans back in his chair, his wide shoulders blocking the view of the door. His muscles flex as the chair cracks, groaning under his weight. He inhaled softly.

"You must eat," He demands. "Po. Change the meal. Give her vegetables."

I shift. His hands bawl into a fist, as Po sets a new plate in front of me. A vein sticks out of his forehead when I don't touch it.

His eyes narrow.

"I won't have you starve yourself, wife. Eat something."

I force the carrots into my mouth. "Why are you mad at me?"

"I'm not..." he sighs. "Just eat, will you? You're so complicated."

I sit back with a Hurd. Me? Complicated? He'll barely speak. I have to interpret his micro expressions just to have a conversation.

"I didn't give you an answer because I didn't know what answer to give. I thought...we could spend some time—"

He narrows his eyes. "Am I human?"

"What?" She scoffed.

"Am I human that I should be upset with you, be hostile to you for not answering a query of mine? Or do I not have the power to make your mind up for you?"

I lean back. "And what does that mean?"

"I am a god. You are my wife. Those are the facts," he stands, pushing away from the table. "If I want you, I will have you."

I frown. My heart pangs. If he wants me? I don't what insults me more. The fact he's implied he can rape, threaten and kill me to get what he wants. The fact that he's right or the implication he doesn't want me.

"Don't make that face. You're so complicated, Monika. Take your time. I have an eternity. Take the next 50 years it passes in the blink of an eye."

He walks past me. "Just don't starve yourself in the meantime."

I pull on his cape, ever so gently. He stops in his tracks.

"Yes, Monika?"

"Where are you going?"

He sighs. "To the garden." He turns around, offering his large hand. "Since you're not hungry."

He doesn't bother to wait for my answer, instead, pulling me up by my hand, tucking me under his arm. "We'll take a walk, yes?"

He guides us out through the corridor.

I finally look at my surroundings. It looks like a temple. The marble, the columns, the stained glass, the gold, and jewels.

"What is this really?" I asked softly.

"What?" He glanced down at me.

"The estate. It reminds me of a temple."

"It once was. My most glorious temple, in fact." He opens the courtyard. I inhale, the scent of roses flooding my nose.

"After the Great War, most of my temples were burned. My name stricken from the record." He lets go of me, suddenly and all at once, and I'm standing alone.

"It was my fault, they said. The destruction, the death. It was my influence because they prayed to me, to smite their enemies."

"Did you?"

He paused. "No. No, I didn't. This was 400 years ago, you may not have even heard of it. That was when my true name was known. My true form. All that's gone now."

I touch the petal on a rose. "True name? Form?"

"Hm. All lost to history now. They wiped me away. Only a few temples remain. Prayers I...can't hear they're not directed to me. They use the wrong name."

He's so melancholy. I reach out and take his hand.

He casts a glance over at me. He chuckles, putting his hand on my back, pulling me into his chest.

"Do not pity me. I am still a god after all."

My fingers press against his chest. He leaned down.

"It's still sad," I murmured, our lips touching gently.

"No...it is Destiny. If I had been revered as I were before perhaps...I wouldn't have heard you. So...I consider it a great gain."

He smirked, pushing me gently.

"Roses were my symbol. I remember that. A rose, its thorns the shape of swords. Beauty in death. In pain. In war."

He plucked a rose, twirling it between his fingers, shedding it of its thorns. He tucked it behind my ear, smiling softly at me.

"Beautiful."