Prolouge: Looks Can Be Decieving

Shikamaru was almost what he appeared to be. A young handsome prince, aged sixteen. He was one of the most beautiful people on earth, with his dark hair and dark eyes. When he'd smile lazily for the camera, everyone would be taken by him, and they'd all stop breathing for a second. He was soon to be married to the love of his life. He was everything a young adult should be: accomplished, wise, caring, diplomatic, fair. The King's pride and joy. The Queen's only cherished son. But looks can be decieving.

Temari was what she appeared to be. A young cleric, aged fifteen. A pretty face, but when compaired to the prince, no one looked twice at her. She was soon to be married to Prince Shikamaru. Her father was an iron worker. Her mother was a milkmaid. To her, it was like a fairy tale. The young warrior one night, the next, a princess, soon to be queen. She had never been anyone important. This was her chance.

How had this young girl been chosen for this celestial angel come to life? He had been out hunting one night, when all of a sudden, a wild wolf flew out from nowhere and lunged. He was pinned, his bow and arrow knocked out of his hand. His dagger flew from it's sheath and clattered to the ground next to a tree. When he tried to escape, the wolf sank it's sword-like canines into his forearm, leaving a scar that would haunt him forever.

The young prince's hope left him. In that instant, he knew he was about to die. The wolf had released his forearm and raised it's dark head, its teeth bared and dripping with his blood. He looked up into those feral yellow eyes for what he thought would be the last time as the wolf growled and snapped its jaws down towards his throat.

A ringing of a sword, a slash, and suddenly he was free. The wolf rolled over next to him, dead. Temari stood there in her dark armour, dropped her blood-soaked sword, and helped the young prince to her home, where she and her family tended to the boy's wounds. The next day he went home and recalled the entire incident to his worried sick parents. The king immediately summoned the father and asked him what he could do in repayment for saving his son's life. The iron worker offered that Temari was to be married to Shikamaru, and it was so.

It was to be flawless, the wedding. Huge. Elaborate. Royalty from everywhere were to be attending. Paparazzi swarming the pre-determined 18th century castle, attempting to hid so as to be able to take pictures. Bodyguards already jostling them away.

The bride's dress was already chosen. Decorations were in place. The cake was being created. A swarm of chefs were busy on it and the thousands of hors d'oeuvres that would feed the hungry guests. A parade of bridesmaids were waited on relentlessly, their dresses chosen, their every whim furfilled. A symphony of drumming nails as the hundred carpenters readied the old ballroom where the happy couple would have their first dance, their first kiss.

The carriage was ready in the royal palace, where the bride would ride into her wedding, pulled along by four white horses. Her tiara sat on a plush velvet pillow in the Queen's bedroom, where every night she'd look at it and be moved to tears by her happiness about having a daughter. The groom's suit was tailored, fitted to a T, and hanging in a special case, so as not to retain dust. The ring was kept inside a safe inside a vault underneath the castle in a secret room, so as not to be stolen. It had been in the royal family for three generations, and the King had no intention of losing it now.

The wedding was to be perfect, without a hitch. Everything was decided. But the King had no way of knowing what his now silent son held to hisself: He had no intention of marrying Temari. To the King, what he saw was a young man deeply consumed by his fiery passion for the blonde woman. Every time he looked in her direction, the King saw it in his son's eyes. To the King, his son was like a planet revolving around her, the Sun. To the King, Shikamaru couldn't be long away from Temari without having to find her and hold her close.

To Temari, Shikamaru was kind, but silent. He barely glanced at her. When he did, it was friendly. No love, no obsession. She could see that it wasn't her that he loved, and it saddened her. She longed to know who he yearned for, who it was that he thought about when gazing forlornly out a window, or when he'd look at the view over the terrace. To her, that was okay. She'd have him soon enough, and they'd have children, and a legacy, and a wedding to remember forever. She couldn't dwell on these subjects long, for HER future subjects would whisk her away and ready her hair for a day out, or fit her into her dress for the umptheenth time.

Shikamaru seemed the perfect husband, the perfect (most likely soon-to-be) father, the perfect son, the perfect lover.

But looks can be decieving.

._._._.

A/N: Okay, it's official: I'm completely bent on creating ShikaIno and ruining Temari's life forever.

Temari: HEY!

Sorry, but I hate you. Kankuro is kawaii, though. Anywho, I hope to at LEAST get...maybe...TEN reviews? BEfore I continue? S'il vous plait? (Kudos to those who know Francais.)

For now though, Au revoir, Sayonara, Hasta La Vista, and all that jazz.

-Nozomi-