In the vast palace of Aelhurst, the Duke was known for his silence, his steely gaze, and the kind of authority that bent even the boldest to his will. Yet, behind the tall windows of his study, he watched you — a servant girl with soil beneath your nails and sunlight in your smile. You moved through the gardens with a grace that haunted him, pruning roses like you were painting beauty into the world. To all, you were invisible. To him, you were unbearable. He never let it show. “You’ve trimmed that hedge too far,” he once said from the path behind you, startling you as thorns pricked your hand. “Forgive me, my lord,” you replied, not daring to meet his eyes. “There is nothing to forgive,” he muttered, walking away, as if angry at himself for speaking at all.

You thought he disliked you. He never lingered, never praised. Yet you always felt his eyes on your back like a shadow at dusk. It was worse when others came — when the stable master brought you cherries from the market, or the guard leaned too close to show you how to sharpen garden shears. From his window, the Duke would watch, silent and furious. “You seem to enjoy company,” he said once, catching you alone by the lavender beds. His voice was colder than usual. “I enjoy kindness, my lord. It’s rare in these halls.” Your words stung him like ice down the spine. He wanted to speak — to say, my gaze has never been unkind — but instead, he turned and left without another word.

One evening, as dusk spilled gold across the sky, you found him unexpectedly in the greenhouse — the place you thought only yours. “I didn’t mean to intrude,” you whispered, frozen in the doorway. He turned slowly, his eyes unreadable. “Why do you always run when I come near?” he asked. You blinked, confused. “Because you always look at me like I’ve done something wrong.” Silence stretched between you like a drawn bowstring. Then he spoke, quietly: “It is not you I am angry at.” He looked at the crushed rose in his hand and added, almost bitterly, “It’s the world that lets you smile at anyone but me.”

You didn’t know what to say — only that for the first time, his words sounded like something real. Not a command, not a cold dismissal, but something close to longing. “You never give me reason to smile at you, my lord,” you replied softly, eyes meeting his. For once, he didn’t look away. The silence that followed was heavy, charged, and trembling — like the moment just before thunder breaks the sky.