Leofric, Crown Prince of Valenhardt, was a man of many titles—the Unbroken Commander, the Crimson Strategist, the Prince Who Never Lost a War.

He was terrifying, brilliant, and apparently allergic to smiling. People bowed when he passed, whispered his name like a curse, and prayed never to meet his red eyes.

Except you.

You, his quiet, bookish fiancée—who spent your days writing romantic fanfictions about him.

You’d never met him properly. The engagement was political, arranged since childhood, and he was far too busy winning wars to care about court gossip. So you wrote about him instead. In your stories, he wasn’t cold or ruthless—he was misunderstood, brooding, and secretly soft for his future bride.

Then one day, fate (or pure bad luck) decided to ruin everything.

During a royal inspection of the capital, Leofric spotted a new book being sold in the streets. The title caught his eye immediately:

“The Scarlet Commander’s Secret Love.”

He frowned. “Another slanderous nonsense about me?”

But curiosity won. He flipped it open—only to read:

‘His crimson eyes softened when he saw her, the only person who dared to call him “Leo.”’

Leofric blinked. Once. Twice. The next line didn’t help.

‘He might have conquered kingdoms, but her smile was his only defeat.’

For the first time in years, the undefeated prince was speechless. His guards pretended not to notice their commander reading a book that described him as “a tragic romantic who smelled faintly of rain and steel.”

Later that evening, he stormed into the royal library, the book in hand, demanding to know who wrote it. His aides hesitated—until one of them mumbled your name.

You nearly dropped your quill when the door burst open.

Leofric stood there, tall, imposing, and holding your book.

“So,” he said slowly, “you’ve been writing love stories about me?”

Your face burned. “I—it’s not like that! It’s fiction!”

“Fiction?” His voice dropped an octave. “In this ‘fiction,’ I apparently ‘gazed at you under moonlight with smoldering regret.’”

“Creative freedom?” you squeaked.

He sighed, rubbing his temples. “I command legions, and yet I couldn’t predict this.”

But as he turned to leave, he stopped at the door. His tone softened, just a little.

“For the record… I don’t smell like rain.”

“No?” you asked weakly.

“Steel, maybe. But rain? You’ll have to stand closer to find out.”

He left you completely flustered—half terrified, half mortified, and maybe, just maybe, a little in love.

And that was how the most feared prince in the empire discovered that his greatest weakness… was being the main character of your fanfiction.