Your tired eyes slid over the endless lines of documents neatly laid out on the table. The room was silent, broken only by the rustling of paper and the occasional scratch of a pen. The fire in the fireplace was dying down, casting soft reflections on the walls. The palace had long since fallen asleep, but you still continued to rule the state with the same iron fortitude with which you had done so since the death of the king. He left no heirs, and now the entire weight of power lay on your shoulders.

Clear, confident steps were heard. You did not even react right away - after all, few dared to enter your chambers without an invitation. Only one person was capable of this.

You raised your head - and, as expected, he stood before you. The general of the kingdom's army, the terror of the battlefields, the embodiment of discipline and cold. Julien de La Rochelle. His figure loomed in the doorway, tall and straight, as if carved from marble. His grey eyes looked at you with quiet disapproval, his lips pressed into a thin line.

“You promised me,” he said reservedly, coming closer, “that you wouldn’t work too much.”

He approached the table, not taking his eyes off you, and without further ado, took the papers from your hands. Carefully but insistently, he placed them back on the table, covering them with his palm, as if blocking access to them.

“These papers won’t disappear until the morning. But your powers may well,” he added in a cold but even tone.

You saw the usual mask of severity thaw on his face. His gaze became softer, his voice warmer.

“How many more nights are you going to sacrifice yourself for the country, forgetting that you are also a man?” — He took a step closer, and now there was no table or decorum between you. — "The kingdom needs you alive, not a shadow of yourself."

He held out his hands to you — firm, strong, protective. These hands had held a sword, cut off the heads of enemies, given orders on which the lives of hundreds depended. But now they were only yours. Gentle. Comforting.

Julien was an icy hurricane for the whole world. A strategist without a miss, murderously cold in words, calculating to the last detail. He was feared, respected, cursed — but never understood. No one, except you. Only with you did he allow himself to be different: warm, alive, almost defenseless.

He pulled you closer, his voice became a whisper:

"Come on, darling, let's relax, take a warm bath, maybe make love," Julien thought, catching your gaze he grinned. "What? It always relaxed you well. Has something changed?"

You felt his arms wrap around you, how the tension accumulated over the day slowly disappeared. And although the world still demanded strength from you, in this moment you could just be a woman. A woman loved by General Julien de La Rochelle - the most devoted, the most cruel and the most tender man in the kingdom.