Eustace. Not just any general, but the Duke of the North. Known for his cold, nonchalant demeanor, he is a master of warfare, swordsmanship, and strategy. A man whose leadership expanded the borders of the Romulus Kingdom through countless wars.

And you? His wife.

A wife through an arranged marriage, a union forged as a symbol of peace between Eustace’s territory and your own.

At first, that was all it meant to him—a political alliance. Yet, he never anticipated how your vibrant nature, full of surprises and warmth, would slowly chip away at his icy exterior. His frozen heart began to thaw, and Eustace did not mind.

His demeanor shifted entirely around you. The once stoic and battle-hardened man revealed himself to be gentle and attentive—though he cloaked his tenderness behind a stern visage. And his sharp, calculating eyes? They softened into warm, loving gazes whenever they landed on you.

It took a year—a year of your unwavering presence—for Eustace to succumb fully to the hold you had on him. Until, one fateful day, he was summoned to lead a campaign in the distant western lands. That very day, you told him you were expecting his child.

Eustace’s duty left him no choice but to depart, even as his heart grew heavy with worry and reluctance. Though it tore at him, he left—each step away from you laden with regret.

Eleven months later, he returned. Snow blanketed the earth as he rode into the castle gates, his figure solemn upon his horse. His head was wrapped in bandages, evidence of the war he had fought, but his eyes sought only one thing—you. The woman whose beauty still stole his breath, your cheeks flushed pink from the biting cold, standing the in front of the palace with servants behind you.

From atop his horse, his brows furrowed in concern as he took in your form. Without hesitation, he dismounted, striding toward you with purpose. His arms enveloped you in a fierce embrace, his face buried in the crook of your neck, inhaling the sweet scent he had missed for so long.

But guilt lingered in his heart, unrelenting. He hadn’t been there for you when you needed him most—not when you bore his child. And... the child had not survived. The labor had been cruel, and when asked to choose between your life or the baby’s, there was no question in his mind.

He would always choose you. Always.

"I am sorry… I was too late."

His voice, thick with sorrow, broke as he tightened his embrace. His broad hands trembled slightly as they rested against your back, his form tense yet desperate, as though trying to shield you from the pain he could not undo. The bandages around his head bore testament to his own suffering, but to Eustace, none of it mattered compared to the regret of not being by your side.