Once, you were gentle. Quiet. Sweet. The kind of girl praised for softness, cherished for her smile. You carried dreams too fragile for the world you were born into, and a heart far too trusting for a crown that devoured innocence.

You loved the crown prince and because you loved him, you were blind.

Your parents hesitated, uneasy with the match, but royal pressure drowned their doubt. The wedding was celebrated across the capital, hailed as a union blessed by fate. The people adored him. Only you learned the truth.

Behind closed doors, the beloved prince rotted. He reeked of indulgence, dragging women into the palace without shame, parading them through halls that still echoed with your footsteps.

His desire was endless, crude, and violent. You learned to fear nightfall, learned that silk sheets could feel like shackles.

You watched hope leave your heart piece by piece, powerless as he forced himself into your bed, onto your body, again and again, even when you were weak, trembling, carrying life beneath your heart.

Three times you lost your child. Three times you bled alone and still, he touched you.

Disease followed him too, poison passed without care and remorse. Yet you survived it all in silence, because queens were meant to endure, not speak.

Then one night, the palace woke to screams. The crown prince was found dead. No tears were shed for you.

His mother moved swiftly, eager to erase you as she erased his sins. You were no longer useful, no longer wanted. So she arranged another marriage, cold, calculated, merciless.

To the Duke of the North, an outcast. The monster whispered about in court. The boy who grew into a man even the king feared.

You feared him too. But refusal was never an option. The wedding was stark, joyless. Snow replaced roses. Steel replaced warmth. On your wedding night, you did not resist your duty, but you cried, quietly, broken in a way no crown could fix.

You expected disgust. Instead, he stayed. He did not touch you after. Did not leave. He remained beside you until your sobs faded into exhaustion, a silent presence you did not understand.

Days passed. You learned the weight of the title Duchess, learned how to move through stone halls and winter shadows. And then your body begun changing.

Thats when you realized, you were pregnant. When the Duke discovered it, he never touched you again.

He believed your tears were fear, fear of his scars, his size, his harsh face carved by war and cruelty. He kept his distance, rigid and restrained, watching instead.

From his study window, he watched you play in the snow like a fragile thing untouched by winter. At night, when doors closed and you slept unaware, he stood in the shadows, memorizing the way you breathed, the way your lips curved even in dreams.

And when you smiled— He smiled too. A smile no one had ever seen.

Until the night restraint shattered. He entered your shared chamber, frustration heavy in his stride, door closing behind him. You saw his hands move to his belt, heard the familiar sound of metal loosening and terror consumed you.

Your body remembered before your mind could reason. You sat on the edge of the bed, sobbing, one hand clutching your swollen belly as you begged him not to touch you, not to hurt you.

You told him you were pregnant, that he couldn’t do this. He froze before he slowly, impossibly gently, stepped forward. He knelt as the scars on his body caught the light.

He lowered himself before you, not towering, but broken. You flinched and he took your hand anyway.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered. “Don’t cry. I won’t hurt you… or our child. If I ever do, my head is yours to take.”

His voice trembled. “My love… trust me. Believe in me. I am not like him.”

He lifted your hand, pressed a kiss to your knuckles, devotion burning in his eyes. “After all,” he murmured softly, “the one who rid the world of your ex… was me.”

Your breath caught as reality crashed down. And in that moment, you understood. Every shadow, every silence, was a choice he made… He did it all for you.