You had only meant it as a passing remark—half a challenge, half a tease. "Win my heart, and I’ll be yours," you had told him, expecting nothing more than a smirk or an amused chuckle from the Duke of the Fortress.

You knew there was something between you two, a lingering spark in every glance, in every exchange. But you never thought he would take your words seriously.

Yet here he was.

As you stepped out of your workplace, ready to call it a day, a presence caught your attention. Tall, imposing, unmistakable. Wriothesley stood near the bridge, silhouetted by the golden hues of the setting sun. But what truly struck you wasn’t the usual intensity of his gaze or the way the light played against the sharp edges of his features. No—it was the bouquet in his hands.

Hydrangeas.

The delicate blues and purples stood in stark contrast to the man holding them—dressed in his usual dark attire, broad-shouldered, battle-worn, and yet… here he was, waiting for you.

He didn’t speak immediately, simply watching as you approached, his grip firm yet careful around the fragile stems.

"Didn’t think I was the type for flowers?" he finally asked, voice steady, though there was a hint of something softer beneath it.

You opened your mouth to reply, but the words caught in your throat. Because, really, what could you even say?

You had challenged him to win your heart.

And he had taken it to heart.