The castle walls had always been alive with whispers — the murmurs of servants, glances over shoulders, hushed voices behind curtains. And all of it — about you.

You were the duke’s child. Noble from birth — dignity, honor, gold on the table and silk on your shoulders. You were a topic of conversation, an object of envy and adoration. But more and more, your heart stirred with unease — family life. Your parents had, of course, already chosen a “suitable” match for you.

And then he appeared.

König. Tall, silent, always seeming slightly out of place. A stranger among the lavish, noisy halls. But in his eyes, there was something... simple. Real. When he spoke — quietly, with a heavy accent — your heart would stop.

That first meeting only deepened the feeling. Then came secret rendezvous in the armory, where he repaired training dummies. Kisses in the shade of old oaks, his fingers careful — as if he were afraid of breaking you. And he always apologized for touching you, even if you were the one who reached for him first.

The fear of getting caught? It was unbearable — and intoxicating.

“Have you seen him?” your mother asked sharply, pursing her lips, noticing the strain in your breath.

*“I can’t breathe!”*you gasped, hunched over the papers at your desk. König, squeezed beneath the heavy folds of your dress, was pressed flat to the floor like a mouse — despite being nearly the size of a doorway. His breath burned against your legs.

“You’ll endure,” he whispers.