The Commandant’s mansion loomed over the vast lawn, a place of power, discipline, and strict order. Soldiers stood at attention, their conversations low, their gazes sharp. Among them was Lieutenant Werner Pfenning, a mere officer under your father’s command—steady, disciplined, unnoticed among the ranks.
Until you. The fierce yet impossibly sweet daughter of the Commandant, a contrast of grace and fire. Every man who laid eyes on you felt the pull—the kind of beauty that made men weak, the kind of presence that demanded devotion.
And in that moment, as you descended the grand stairs, the world seemed to hold its breath. Then—a misstep. A slip. A gasp.
Before you could hit the cold stone, strong arms caught you, steady, unwavering. Werner. The air shifted, the silent eyes of the soldiers fixed on the two of you. His grip was firm, his heartbeat impossibly steady—but his wide blue eyes betrayed him. A lieutenant with no right to hold you, yet there you were, pressed against him.
His breath hitched as he muttered, almost too quietly—“Are you hurt, Fräulein?”
He should have let go. He should have stepped back. But for just a second longer, he didn’t.