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When she'd first met him she'd called him a scaly-backed cockroach, and it hadn't been without reason. Her ideal of beauty had been largely shaped by the society she'd grown up in, and fairies weren't called the fair-folk for nothing.
Roland had been her idea of perfect for a long time. His build, his hair, even his eyes and jaw – she'd swooned over him same as many other ladies of the court. And when he'd broken her heart she'd violently rejected everything about him, everything she'd once liked.
So perhaps it wasn't so incredibly surprising to find herself in the arms of the Bog King after all.
He was a far cry from the handsome folk of the court. He was spindly, and covered with plates and scales that caused most other fairies to pull back. His nose looked sharp enough to cut with and his default expression, for the longest time, had seemed to be a scowl. His wings lacked the colors and patterns that her own did. Indeed – they were more like a dragonflies than a fairy's.
The Bog King lacked color everywhere, in fact. His hide was muted earth tones, mostly. Greys and some browns, befitting the monarch of the Dark Forest. Nothing at all like the colorful, light dresses that her sister and other members of the court regularly wore. The only thing that stood out were his eyes, bright blue, and round whenever he smiled. Whenever he looked at her.
She did like the plates of armor on his shoulders and the spines on his back clicked together when he rustled them, and though she would never admit it she was beginning to find it kind of cute. It had always been interesting to watch, at least. So very different from the armor the guards of her castle wore.
It was rough to the touch, too, unlike the polished metal she'd been used to touching on Roland. Rough, but she liked it more.
Despite their differences, despite his hard to her soft, despite his sharpness to her curves, he never treated her as though she were a fragile porcelain doll. When they sparred he did her the honor of using all his skill against her, unlike the castle guard. And so unlike Roland who had scoffed at the idea of her using a sword of her own. The Bog King rewarded her spirited fighting with praise, fighting with her, treating her as an equal in the training grounds and in the courts.
Perhaps what had first drawn her to him had been the fact that he'd never spoken down to her. At least, not because she was a princess. Her own father had wanted to marry her off and give the power of the throne to a king instead of letting her rule as the sole queen. He'd pushed her into the background more than once, had tried to trick her into returning to Roland. But the Bog King listened to her, respected her intelligence and attitude, hadn't once mocked her for choosing to become a warrior over a diplomat.
Marianne didn't think he was ugly. Not really. Ugly was more than just about appearance, after all.