The golden doors of the throne hall opened with a heavy groan. Dorian Blackmoor, the infamous Duke of Blackmoor, stepped into the chamber with his usual calm yet intimidating air. His long black coat trailed behind him, and his eyes remained unreadable as he approached the throne.
At the far end, King Alfred lounged lazily on his throne, a goblet of wine in one hand and a soft laugh on his lips. One of his concubines stood by his side, adjusting the sleeves of his robe as if he were not the ruler of a kingdom but a man bored with too much power.
As Dorian drew closer, he knelt briefly and bowed his head.
"Your Majesty."
The king waved lazily. "Ah, Duke Dorian. Let's not waste time with pleasantries—I summoned you for a simple matter. A proposal."
Dorian straightened, his jaw tight. "I'm listening, Your Majesty."
King Alfred leaned forward, his grin widening.
"I want you to marry someone very dear to me—Princess Julia."
There was a long pause.
Dorian blinked once. "Your daughter?"
The king chuckled. "My illegitimate one, yes. Her mother was a maid. Got her pregnant years ago—long story. But now she's of age, and I believe she'll suit you perfectly."
Dorian's expression remained impassive, though a flicker of disdain passed behind his eyes. He spoke calmly.
"Unfortunately, I'm already engaged, Your Majesty. The announcement will be made official within days. I'll have to decline your generous offer."
The king slammed his goblet down, startling the concubine beside him. His voice turned mocking.
"Engaged? To whom? Who in this kingdom would willingly give their daughter to a man like you?"
Dorian said nothing.
The king laughed louder now, shaking his head.
"I was trying to be kind. You see, no one wants to marry off their daughter to the cursed warhound of Blackmoor. I assumed whoever agreed must be desperate. Perhaps their daughter is so useless, so unwanted, that they thought you were her last hope."
He leaned back with a smug smirk.
"I was offering you a royal favor, Dorian. A tie to the crown. And you've spat on it."
Dorian's voice was low and sharp.
"With all due respect, Your Majesty, I do not recall asking for your favor. I serve the crown in battle. Not in politics. And I do not take brides as tokens."
King Alfred's expression soured. The air in the hall grew thick with tension. Dorian bowed once more, slower this time, before turning on his heel and leaving without permission.
The king's voice echoed after him, cold and tight.
"You may regret this, Blackmoor."
Dorian didn't reply.
He had faced the battlefield. He had survived betrayal, blood, and the weight of a curse that twisted his soul. A spoiled princess—no matter her royal blood—would not be forced into his fate.
The sun had begun to dip beneath the horizon, casting a soft golden hue over the garden. It was the one place Amelia found a sliver of peace, especially since her arrival in this unfamiliar world.
She knelt beside a bed of blooming roses, gently tending to them the way the real Amelia used to. Feeding the rabbits, pruning the flowers—routine tasks that now served a bigger purpose. Every action had to look familiar, natural. Convincing.
But tonight, her hands moved without thought.
Her mind was elsewhere—on the sealed letter she had given Theodore earlier. Did the Duke receive it? Has he read it? Will he reply?
The sharp prick of a thorn brought her back. She looked down to find she had accidentally cut a rose clean off its stem.
Grace, standing nearby, frowned with concern. "My lady… you need to rest. You've been distracted all evening."
Amelia smiled faintly, brushing the dirt off her hands. "I'm fine. Just a little tired."
Unseen by either of them, Celina stood hidden near the hedges, arms folded tightly across her chest, her gaze fixed on Amelia with quiet contempt.
"Tch. I knew it," Celina whispered to herself. "She's already cracking."
A smug smirk curled on her lips.
"She's scared… and she should be. There's no way she can handle a man like Duke Dorian. He'll break her."
She tilted her head, her eyes narrowing with cruel satisfaction.
"Starting tomorrow, I'll make sure her life becomes a living hell."
And with that, she turned and disappeared into the shadows—already scheming her next move.
The next day, Amelia sat by the window of her room, pretending to read a book, but her mind wasn't on the pages. She kept glancing toward the gate, hoping a letter would arrive—or anything at all from the Duke. Grace knocked lightly before entering with a tray of warm tea.
"No messages yet?" Grace asked, setting the tray down.
Amelia shook her head and exhaled. "I probably shouldn't expect a reply. He's a Duke. He doesn't have time for letters from foolish girls."
Grace gave her a look. "You're not foolish, my lady. And you're soon to be his fiancée."
That last part made Amelia roll her eyes. She stood up and walked toward the mirror. "That's exactly why I need him to agree to my terms. If he wants a quiet engagement, I'll play along—but only if I have my freedom too."
Grace didn't ask further. She knew her mistress well enough now to know when to stay quiet.
Meanwhile, at the Blackmoor Mansion, Dorian leaned back in his chair. He'd read the letter from Amelia three times already. The first time made him smile. The second time made him suspicious. The third time… made him curious.
A deal.
Amelia had proposed they maintain appearances for the sake of both their families, but in truth, live their own lives. No pressure to act like a real couple. No meddling. Just a quiet engagement.
Smart. Cautious. And far different from the desperate social climbers he was used to.
"She wants distance," Dorian muttered to himself. "Interesting."
Theodore stood nearby, sorting files, trying not to look too eager to know the contents of the letter. After a few moments, Dorian finally spoke.
"Have someone prepare a reply. No formal seal. Handwritten."
Theodore blinked. "You're writing back?"
Dorian gave him a look. "She's bold enough to send terms. I'm curious to see how far she's willing to go."
Back at the Harrowind estate, the sun had begun to set when a knock came at Amelia's door. Grace opened it, and one of the maids held out a small envelope.
"A message came for Lady Amelia."
Amelia snatched it before Grace could. She locked her door, sat on the bed, and opened it quickly.
It was short.
Lady Amelia,
If it's peace and distance you want, I can allow that.
But don't mistake my silence for ignorance.
I see everything.
– D. Blackmoor
Amelia blinked. "What… what kind of reply is this?"
She turned it over. That was all.
Her heart beat faster—not out of fear, but confusion. It wasn't a no. But it wasn't exactly a yes either.
She crumpled the letter in her hand, then smoothed it back out again.
"I knew he'd be difficult."
Grace knocked from outside. "Everything alright, my lady?"
Amelia cleared her throat. "Yes… I got my reply."
"And?" Grace pressed.
Amelia gave a small smile. "Let's just say… the game has begun."