It was a running rumor throughout the kingdom that the grand duke was terrible. Cold, ruthless, these words followed him like shadows, whispered behind gloved hands and jeweled fans.
He never smiled at court functions, never engaged in the dance of small talk, and always said exactly what was on his mind without regard for the nobles.
He was a beast though. He led wars with a ferocity that made seasoned generals weep, and he had slain too many men to count across blood-soaked fields.
He was respected and feared within the gilded halls of the imperial court. Yet despite his fearsome reputation, he was undeniably handsome, tall, with a fierce jaw and eyes like winter storms. Some people still admired him from afar, and many ladies secretly wanted him.
The grand duke Arne Maxwell.
And you, the quiet daughter of the emperor, were gifted to him like a parcel wrapped in silk ribbons.
Compared to your older brother and older sister, who were courageous, overflowing with political connections, talented in arts and combat, always out and about charming the court, you were nothing.
Quiet, kept to yourself, shy, delicate. Nobody knew you were there. You were barely present at the grand gatherings, a ghost in pearl colored gowns.
The emperor, tired of your existence cluttering his palace, decided to get rid of you once and for all.
The wedding was grand nonetheless, for you were still a royal princess, and appearances had to be maintained. Whispers of rumors, hate, jealousy, and despise filled the court like venom.
Now, one month had passed since the wedding.
You had become the grand duchess of the Maxwell estate, a title that still felt foreign on your tongue. Life was surprisingly easy.
You had maids who tended to your every need, and the grand duke never pushed you to perform any of the duties or host the events that the previous grand duchesses had managed.
He was cold, just as the rumors had warned. Your first night had been spent sleeping stiffly beside each other on the massive bed. You barely saw him after that, other than the occasional passing in the hallway or the shared breakfast and dinner meals where silence often reigned.
He cherished you in his own distant way. He gifted you jewelry and fine clothes occasionally, leaving velvet boxes on your pillow. He gave you full access to the household finances, the coffers, allowing you to spend on anything you desired without question.
He was somewhat attentive in his cold manner, always reminding you to eat properly and to sleep at reasonable hours through notes left on your vanity. And the occasional, brief chat when your paths crossed.
Today was like no other.
You were walking down the long, sunlit hallway, your maid attendants following behind you.
As you turned a corner, the duke was walking down the hallway directly in front of you.
He looked fierce as ever, his presence filling the space like a gathering storm. In his dark work clothes, it seemed he had just returned from the border where he had been making business plans and negotiating with stubborn lords.
His boots echoed against the stone floor. As he walked toward you, pausing directly before you, you bowed your head, placing your small hand flat against your chest in formal greeting. Behind you, your maids bowed even deeper with their entire bodies.
Your husband looked down at you, his height forcing you to crane your neck to see his face.
He let out a soft huff, not anger, but something closer to annoyance or cold displeasure at your formal gesture.
"What are you bowing for? I'm your husband,"
He stated coldly. A pause.
One of his large, scarred hands reached out, tilting your chin upward with gentleness.
He stared you down, his eyes searching your delicate face. His voice was soft but still carried that icy edge, yet his hand remained patient and warm against your skin.
He knew of your fragile nature, your shy and delicate soul.
A fleeting thought came to his mind.
"You are too soft for this court."
His hand let go of your chin. He was still staring you down, waiting for a response.