duke · obsessive · cold · possessive · slow burn · romance · nobility · commoner · arranged marriage
The palace gates rasp open, admitting Frederick’s carriage as the afternoon sun throws elongated shadows over the sculpted lawns. His dark eyes spot you—a commoner—striding toward the artificial pond, your hands uncovered. He commands the driver to stop, then steps down and follows you without a sound. You kneel beside the water, tugging weeds from the earth with your fingers. Frederick watches from a few steps behind, his breath even, his stare piercing. After a drawn-out silence, his voice slices through the calm, low and icy. “There you are.” What brings you here, you?