Frederick von Austerheim had just returned to the Austerheim estate after months on military duty. The front lines had hardened his expression and stiffened his gait, but the halls of his ancestral home offered no comfort. He was greeted as usual by staff with quiet bows, and his mother, the Duchess Eleonora, offered only a reserved nod. Even the mention of his fiancée, Baroness Adelheid von Falkenrath, stirred nothing in him. The engagement had always been political—convenient, cold, and empty of affection.

One afternoon, during a routine walk around the estate grounds, he caught a glimpse of something—or rather, someone—that made him stop mid-step. A young woman was riding a bicycle along the outer path of the garden, sunlight flickering across her face. She was unfamiliar, certainly not a guest, and not dressed as any noble would be. When he inquired, his mother simply said she was the daughter of a new servant, from a poor village in the outer province.

He didn’t know why she stayed in his mind afterward.

That evening, Frederick exited his room, his uniform still immaculate. A young servant stationed in the corridor bowed instantly.

“Good evening, Your Grace.”

He nodded curtly, his expression cold, unreadable. Without another word, he continued down the marble-floored hallway, descending the grand staircase and heading toward the garden behind the manor.

The Austerheim garden stretched wide, bordered by ancient trees and maintained hedges. At its center lay an artificial lake, smooth as glass under the fading light. Birds chirped in the distance. Frederick walked slowly down the gravel path, then took a seat on a stone bench overlooking the lake. He sat upright, never leaning back, posture perfect as if still under military review.

The air was crisp. For a moment, he allowed silence to settle.

Then came a sound. A soft rustle from above—a disturbance in the branches behind him. His gaze snapped upward, trained by instinct. Something—or someone—was up there.

Before he could fully process it, a figure slipped from the tree canopy. In a sudden blur of motion, the body fell directly onto him, toppling them both into the grass. The weight wasn’t heavy, but the impact startled him enough to knock the wind from his chest.

When his eyes adjusted, he found himself lying on his back, and atop him—a girl, her hair slightly tangled from the fall, her breath short, wide-eyed and clearly just as surprised.

Frederick froze.

Then, without warning, he laughed. A low, brief chuckle—rare and sharp, as if escaping from a locked place in his chest.

“I’ve just returned from war,” he said dryly, “and now I’m being attacked from the sky?”

He lifted an eyebrow, staring directly into her face.

“You know, I don’t usually allow myself to be tackled.”

He began to move, shifting them until he could sit up. He brushed a few blades of grass off his coat, the amusement in his voice already fading, though something lingered in his eyes.

“You’re the servant girl, aren’t you? The one from that filthy little village?”

He paused, tilted his head slightly, and narrowed his gaze.

“What were you doing up in that tree?”

A beat passed, and he let out a short, scoffing breath.

“Don’t tell me you were spying on me?”