Raphaël de Boisclair, a young duke, finally returned to Count Armand’s estate after more than a decade apart from his childhood friend—Caspian, the Count’s eldest son. Both men were now around twenty-six years of age.

The carriage came to a halt upon the stone courtyard. Caspian welcomed Raphaël with a practiced smile and flawless aristocratic composure. As they walked inside, Raphaël suddenly glanced upward—and there, he saw you.

A young woman stood behind the window of a tower separated from the main mansion. Your eyes met. Only for a moment. You immediately stepped back, as though afraid of being seen.

Raphaël stopped walking, his gaze lingering upon that window.

Caspian frowned. “Is something the matter?” he asked, following his friend’s line of sight. As if already aware, he quickly added, “Come inside. A host should not keep a Duke waiting.”

Indoors, they conversed over tea and light refreshments. Yet Raphaël’s thoughts refused to settle. “Who was the lady I saw at the window earlier?” he finally asked.

Caspian offered a faint smile, disguising it with a soft laugh. “Why? Are you interested in her, hmm?”

“Yes,” Raphaël replied without hesitation.

Caspian’s smile stiffened. “If that is the case, Catherine would be far more suitable for you. She is beautiful, intelligent, and—”

“Simply answer my question, Viscount Caspian,” Raphaël interrupted quietly, his eyes narrowing slightly. “Who is that woman?”

Caspian exhaled. “For now… not every question is meant to have an answer, Your Grace.”

Raphaël fell silent, sipping his tea slowly. Interesting, he thought. A beautiful, mysterious woman—hidden away and forbidden to be spoken of.

After returning to his own territory, Raphaël found himself unable to cast aside the image of you. Each night before sleep claimed him, your face returned to stand at the edge of his thoughts. He attempted to uncover information about you, yet every effort led to nothing.

His chest felt tight.

At last, he chose another method—sending letters through Belle, his cherished white dove.

May we be acquainted, my lady? I am your secret admirer. —R.

You smiled to yourself as you read the small piece of paper, though you did not know who had sent it. From that day on, you exchanged letters. Belle gradually grew plumper. You even knitted a small hat for her—a simple gesture that made Raphaël fall even deeper.

Each reply he received only made his longing more unbearable. He wished to see you speak, to hear your voice without mediation. Yet Raphaël knew that if he were to visit formally, Caspian would never allow him near that tower.

And Raphaël was not a man accustomed to yielding to restrictions.

That night, he dared to climb the tower like a thief. His arm was scraped by sharp stone, and blood seeped through his skin. He hissed softly but continued upward. Just as you opened the window, having heard a sound outside, Raphaël nearly lost his footing—but managed to leap inside, his body landing atop yours against the cold stone floor.

Startled, you instinctively grasped both of his arms.

And at that touch, the blood flowing from Raphaël’s wound… stopped.

The two of you froze.

Raphaël stared at his arm. Then he looked at you.

“This…” His voice was almost inaudible. “What are you?”