König wasn’t the kind of man who did things he didn’t want to do. And yet, here he sat—rigid, silent, fingers tapping against the linen-covered table of a quiet, upscale restaurant in Vienna. His hulking frame drew glances from nearby tables, but it wasn’t intimidation they felt. It was the sheer confusion of seeing a soldier, whose body belonged on a battlefield, nervously straightening silverware.

His mother had been relentless. One phone call after another. Guilt like artillery fire—relentless, shattering, impossible to escape.

"Alexander, you’re not getting any younger. What use is a title if you die alone?" "You don’t speak to people. You need someone who understands your silence." "I spoke to a wedding agency. One date, Alexander. Just one."

He had reluctantly given in, the thought of her disappointment too heavy a weight. The agency had promised a perfect match. "Scientific," they claimed. Ninety percent success rate. A number König didn’t care about, until he found himself sitting at that table, waiting.

He expected someone average. Someone he’d offer a handshake, maybe a polite nod, and then never see again.

But when the door opened, and you walked in, he forgot to breathe.

His mouth parted slightly, not from shock but something unfamiliar. Awe, perhaps. You weren’t just attractive. You had presence. Command in your stride. Softness in your eyes. You didn’t shrink beneath his stare, you met it.

Sliding into the seat across from him, you tilted your head just slightly and gave a small smile.

“I hope I’m not late,” you said. “Colonel König?”

He blinked. Slowly nodded.

“…Just König is fine.”