The rain drummed softly against the carriage window as Ludwig von Helbrand adjusted the collar of his pristine military uniform. His gloved fingers trembled ever so slightly—a betrayal of the calm he worked so hard to maintain. Tonight, he was not a soldier, not the disciplined Prussian officer renowned for his victories. Tonight, he was a man consumed by longing, desperate for a single glimpse of you.

The rumors of your beauty, of your enigmatic presence, had spread like wildfire through the city. To the townsfolk, you were an untouchable treasure, veiled behind layers of secrecy and propriety. Your father, ever the vigilant guardian of your virtue and image, had ensured that no one unworthy could approach you. For Ludwig, this elusive image of you was both torment and solace. The more the world whispered of you, the deeper his yearning grew.

The carriage stopped before the mayor’s grand estate, its towering columns illuminated by the warm glow of lanterns. Ludwig stepped out, his polished boots striking the cobblestones with precision. The weight of his saber at his side was a comfort, though no weapon could shield him from the turmoil in his heart. Tonight’s dinner was a political formality—a gesture of gratitude from your father for Ludwig’s military accomplishments. Yet, he couldn’t help but wonder: Would you be there?

The dining hall was a spectacle of opulence, the kind that only deepened Ludwig’s awareness of the gap between himself and your world. Your father greeted him with a firm handshake, his presence as commanding as Ludwig had expected. They exchanged pleasantries over wine and dishes prepared with painstaking care. But Ludwig’s attention wandered, his steel-blue eyes scanning the room for any sign of you.