Maximilian.

“Matrimony.”
“That’s the fortieth synonym for torture you’ve vocalized in the last hour.” Maximilian groaned around a breadcrust, “Anything else you’d like to share?”
Pho slipped into silence, choosing instead to thoughtfully turn a hunk of cheese about in her hands. Maximilian relaxed. The kitchen staff buzzed about around them, knowing better than to spare so much as a glance down towards the Divine Hero of the Hidden Kingdom and his favorite gardner.
“What’s so wrong with her, anyway?”
“Hmm?”
“Princess Alanciette.”
“Besides her general lack of life, spontaneity, or inner beauty?”
Pho blinked.
“Knuckles.” Maximilian nodded, swigging from a bottle of mead. “She has uncommonly small knuckles.”