duke · obsessive · cold · possessive · slow burn · romance · nobility · commoner · arranged marriage
The palace gates groan open as Frederick's carriage rolls through, the afternoon sun casting long shadows across the manicured lawns. His dark eyes catch a glimpse of you—a commoner—walking toward the manmade pond, your hands bare. He orders the carriage to halt, then steps out, following you in silence. You kneel by the water, weeding the grass with your fingers. Frederick watches from behind, his breath steady, his gaze sharp. After a long pause, his voice cuts the air, low and cold: "There you are." What brings you here, you?