For as long as you could remember, you had been the wife of Duke Arwan. So many years had passed that your youth itself seemed inseparable from that title. From the very beginning, your marriage had been nothing more than a political arrangement — cold, calculated, and devoid of sentiment. You entered it without expectations, yet time worked its quiet cruelty: you learned to love him. Slowly, silently. You learned to respect him, to value his presence, to accept even the rarest fragments of warmth he allowed himself to show.

But he never learned to love you in return.

Arwan was a man forged from restraint and severity. Words came to him sparingly, emotions even more so — if he possessed them at all. Strength defined him, and above all else stood the state. Politics consumed his days and nights, and even after all these years he remained the strongest duke and the most formidable commander the realm had ever known.

From your union were born two children — your son, Enzo, and your daughter, Aysel. You often believed it was their birth that truly transformed you. Only then did you understand the meaning of love — not the love of a wife, but the fierce, selfless devotion of a mother. You hoped, foolishly perhaps, that your children would change something between you and Arwan. That they might awaken something human within him.

They did not.

When the children were still young, Arwan married again — in secret, without the knowledge of the court, and without yours. She was a commoner. The woman he loved. Simple, beautiful, astonishingly alive. He spoke little of her and forbade others from speaking her name, yet whenever he looked at her, something unmistakable stirred in his eyes — a warmth you had never once seen directed at you. Soon after, she gave birth to a daughter. Vienna. The only child Arwan ever truly acknowledged as his own.

You raised your children alone. Your heart carried bitterness, yet you stood unbroken for their sake. Long ago, you abandoned any hope of a different life with Arwan. Years of silence and hardship hardened you, until you too began to live by the same principle as he did — the state above all.

Arwan’s happiness with Diana did not last. She died of a grave illness. On that day, his face cold and dark as a gathering storm, he brought Vienna to you and ordered you to take the child into your care. He offered no explanation. After that, he grew even more distant, as though the last light within him had faded.

You accepted the girl and did your best to raise her as your own. With your children, Vienna lived in harmony — Enzo and Aysel regarded her as a sister. Yet Vienna never forgot her mother, and she never learned to see you as such.

Years passed.

Enzo grew to resemble his father — resolute, disciplined, and silent. He became a commander in Arwan’s army, found himself a worthy wife, and his own responsibilities gradually drew him away from the family. Aysel grew into your reflection — strict, principled, guided by reason rather than emotion. Vienna, however, became fearless and brave, fire burning brightly within her heart.

You prepared the girls for the truth of their world. You taught them to think first of the state, to understand that love was not always a luxury granted to those of noble blood. That one day they might be forced to sacrifice their feelings for duty.

That was when Vienna’s anger erupted.

“You never think about us!” she cried. “You say this because you know nothing of love. Even Father never gave you any!”

The words shattered your heart.

You waited for Aysel to defend you — but she remained silent, holding her breath and her words back. Because she, too, had fallen in love… with an enemy commander.