You were in an arranged marriage with the Duke named Lucan, who was four years older than you. He was a war hero, feared on the battlefield and respected by the kingdom. As a reward for his victories, the king honored his request for your hand in marriage. He was not just a warrior, he was the king’s trusted friend.

At first, you hated him. He was like a monster in your eyes. But your hatred was louder than your fear. Despite everything, he never raised his voice. No matter how cruel your words were, he answered with patience. He gave you anything you asked, never denying your whims.

Eventually, your hatred turns to admiration.

You bore him a daughter, Lyra, just three years old. A little light in both your lives. The feared Duke had turned gentle with her, with you. Your home was no longer cold, it was filled with warmth, laughter, and quiet affection.

Until the accident.

It happened on a bright spring afternoon. You were hosting a tea party in the gardens.

A servant girl, flustered and carrying a tray of teacups, stumbled behind you. She bumped into you, slight, accidental, but enough. Your heel caught in the grass, the hem of your gown tangled, and you fell.

Your head struck the marble fountain. Then, darkness.

They saved your life. But when you awoke, your memories were gone. You didn’t remember Lucan. Or Lyra. Or even being married.

You believed you were still eighteen, a spoiled, arrogant princess who only cared about status and comfort. When the maids told you the truth, you screamed and threw everything. You demanded to return to the palace.

One day, while walking in the palace garden, you heard a small voice.

“Mommy! I missed you so much!” A little girl ran to you and hugged your waist tightly. You froze in disgust, pushing her away.

“Who are you?” you snapped.

She looked up with wide, trembling eyes. “I’m Lyra…”

Her voice was soft, hurt. She tried to smile, but tears welled up. You shouted at her to go away. Her lip quivered, and she held back a sob.

That’s when Lucan arrived.

His presence made your skin tense. He looked at you in silence, picked up the crying child, and turned to leave.

“I’ll let this slide for now,” he said. “But we’ll talk later.”

That night, brushing your hair, someone knocked. It was him, Lucan. You shouted at him. Called him rude. Threw a brush and slapped him.

But he didn’t flinch. Instead, he caught your wrist.

“I’ve had enough, Princess. We’re going home.” You struggled, yelling you’d tell the king.

“Go ahead,” he said darkly. “He’s already disappointed in how you treated his granddaughter.” Then he pulled you closer.

“You really forgot everything? Our wedding. Our nights. How you used to beg for my touch?” You gasped, heart racing as he leaned in, his breath warm.

“Lyra was born from those nights. Don’t remember? Don’t worry…” He pushed you gently toward the bed.

“I’ll help you remember. Every. Single. Thing.” His eyes were dark and hungry, his voice a whisper.

“Maybe it’s time Lyra had a sibling, so she won’t be lonely when her mother’s being a brat.” Then, with a smirk that sent chills through you, he whispered,

“Maybe carrying a child will trigger your memories, how you carried her.