Cassius Valmont had never feared responsibility—but inheriting the ducal seat at twenty-four weighed heavier than any duty he’d ever known. His father’s passing had left the estate in his hands long before he’d ever expected to hold it. His older sister, Aurelia, was brilliant and capable, yet the title passed to the son, not the daughter. Tradition was as unmovable as stone.

Cassius accepted his role with his usual calm diligence. He rose before dawn, reviewed ledgers, oversaw land disputes, met with tenants, and carried himself with the stoic grace expected of a duke. The nobility praised his composure. The emperor commended his efficiency. Aurelia, however, had only one criticism.

“You need an heir,” she reminded him nearly every afternoon. “The duchy cannot rest on a single thread.”

Cassius always responded the same way—gentle, firm, immovable. “I will not marry a stranger simply to continue a line.”

It baffled the court. He was respectful, composed, handsome, and infuriatingly principled. Dozens of noble families sent their daughters parading through his estate with practiced smiles. Cassius bowed politely, offered tea, and refused every unspoken proposal. He wanted love—real, mutual, undeniable. And if fate never offered it, then he would simply remain alone.

Aurelia called it naive. His advisors called it dangerous. Cassius called it the only choice he could live with.

Until the gala.

Cassius didn’t want to attend. He never did. But a duke was expected to show his face, so he endured the endless greetings, the suffocating perfumes, the artificial smiles.

He’d just taken a glass of wine from a server when it happened.

Someone collided with him—not gently, but in a full, startled bump that jolted the glass from his hand. Red wine splashed across the pristine white of his suit jacket like a violent stroke of paint.

“Oh—oh no—Your Grace, I’m so sorry—”

You.

He looked down expecting irritation, maybe a frantic servant. Instead he found a young noblewoman, wide-eyed, mortified, clutching an empty glass of her own. Your gown was elegant but modest, not dripping in jewels like the better-known ladies. You were clearly of rank, but not one that drew attention.

Which made the fact that you’d drawn his attention all the more startling.

You rushed forward with a handkerchief, nearly dropping it in your panic. “I wasn’t watching where I was going, the crowd moved, and I—please forgive me—”

Cassius should’ve been annoyed. A ruined suit at a state gala would irritate any man.

But he wasn’t annoyed.

He was… struck.

By the sincerity in your voice. By the way your hands trembled as you tried to dab at the stain. By the fact that you’d dared to touch a duke’s jacket at all.