The crowd roared, hands reaching, voices praising. Flowers rained down as I marched through the streets, the stench of gunpowder still clinging to me. We had won. Of course we had. I was the most powerful general of all time. Yet, despite the glory, my eyes scanned the crowd with dull indifference. She wasn’t there.

Weeks of silence. No replies to my letters. I told myself it was the war. The distance. But I knew better.

The whores.

Not for me, but for my men. A gift for their sacrifice. Yet I had been careless. Foolish. I should have explained before the rumors reached her.

As the celebration faded, I slipped away, riding home. The mansion loomed, grand and unyielding. The staff lined up to greet me, but their eyes flickered with unease. The butler stepped forward, voice low.

“Her Grace isn’t… in the mood.”

I ignored him. My boots echoed through the hall as I climbed the stairs. I opened the door to our chambers without knocking.

There she was.

Sitting in the rocking chair, book in hand, but her eyes were distant. Her brow furrowed in a faint frown, lost in thought. And somehow, I knew exactly what was on her mind.

I stood there, battle-hardened, but powerless. My throat tightened. I opened my mouth, but no words came.