I always screw it up right at the start in what I call the “wife shopping phase”.

I know I should go for my prospective ally’s gluttonous, maimed, sloth daughter 30 years my junior, but I see the charitable spymaster hottie of some random duke from far across the seas and follow my heart.

At least I know she’ll mourn me after the failed boar hunt 2 years later and be supportive of our screw up of a son