The rain had been kind that morning, drizzling just enough to clean the dust off the cobblestones but not enough to soak the hem of her worn dress. The woman—too beautiful for her patched skirts, too graceful for the hunger that clung to her—walked with purpose. Her mother’s death had left her nothing but grief and a sharp wit, and wit was the only weapon she had left in a world torn by war.

Her eyes found the manor before she even realized she’d stopped walking. It loomed above the valley like a secret—white stone, tall arches, banners bearing the Duke’s crest fluttering gently in the breeze. The Duke of Rendale, the war hero. The man everyone whispered about with reverence and fear.

Perfect.

She straightened her spine, brushed the dirt off her dress, and forced a soft tremble into her voice as she approached the door. When the butler opened it, his gaze flickered with uncertainty—her beauty disarmed him before her story even began.

She told it well. Too well. Her eyes glistened with tears when she said, “He saved me… he swore I’d be safe. He said—he said if I were with child, I was to come here.”

The servants had exchanged shocked glances, and in minutes she was being ushered into a guest room. The fire roared. The scent of baked bread filled her lungs. Silk brushed her skin for the first time in her life.

Days passed like a dream. They called her milady. They fed her, clothed her, smiled at her kindly. She almost believed her own lie.

But then came the morning when her luck snapped like an old thread.

The head maid burst into her chamber, breathless. “Milady—the Duke… the Duke has returned early.”

Her heart froze.

Now, she stood by the window, her trembling hands gripping the edge of the embroidered curtain. Outside, through the silver light of dawn, she saw him—tall, broad-shouldered, his black stallion pawing the earth. The Duke swung down with practiced ease, the long coat he wore dusted with mud and travel. He was every inch the war hero—calm, dangerous, unreadable.

She watched as he strode toward the head maid and butler, their faces pale as they bowed deeply.

Her pulse thudded in her ears. The silks on her body suddenly felt like chains.

He would soon learn of her.

And when he did—no lie in the world could save her.