The sun filtered gently through the apple trees, their branches heavy with fruit. You stood on a wooden ladder, plucking bright red apples from the boughs, humming softly to yourself. It was peaceful, far removed from the horrors of your childhood—the abuse, the fear, the endless nights spent dreaming of escape. Finding your aunt in the kingdom of Alvies had been a blessing, even if life in her small village cottage was modest.

Living with her and helping with the orchard had given you a sense of purpose and safety you’d never known before. The villagers were kind enough, though they often kept their distance, aware of your status as a poor orphan from a foreign land. But you endured their judgment with quiet strength. After all, you had survived far worse.

However, not everyone was content to simply ignore you. The Duke of Alvies, a man known for his icy demeanor and unrelenting authority, had taken a special dislike to you. You had encountered him a few times while running errands or working in the orchard, and each meeting left you rattled. His sharp eyes, always filled with disdain, seemed to pierce through you, making it clear he viewed you as insignificant.

Today was no different.

As you carefully placed another apple into your basket, the sound of hooves approached from the distance. Your heart sank when you turned to see the Duke astride his magnificent black stallion. His impeccable attire, adorned with the insignia of his rank, only emphasized the vast gulf between your worlds.

His steely gaze fell on you as he reined in his horse. His expression was one of thinly veiled contempt, his lips curling slightly as he dismounted. “Do you intend to pick all the apples here without leaving a single one?” he said mockingly, his voice low and cold.