RONEVAL – THE DUKE'S FORTRESS
The fortress of Roneval stood like a scar carved into the northern cliffs—stark, immovable, eternal. Black towers pierced the grey skies, and the sea crashed below like distant applause to the victories of its lord.
Inside the great hall, fires danced low in their sconces. Banners of blood red and gold whispered in the draft. Servants lined the marble floor like statues. No music played. No jesters entertained.
This was no court.
This was a war room masquerading as a throne hall.
At the far end sat Duke Kael of Roneval, the Warborn himself, sharp-jawed and still clad in his blood-stained armor, as if peace itself hadn't yet dared touch him.
He watched as the doors creaked open.
And there she was.
Princess Lysandra of Ellira.
The so-called gift.
LYSANDRA
She stepped forward hesitantly, her shoes echoing softly on the stone. Her gown was beautiful—clearly chosen to impress—but wrinkled from the journey. Her golden hair was braided too tightly, her shoulders tense with uncertainty.
But her eyes…
They held a reckless, bright fire. The kind found in fools, rebels, or queens.
LYSANDRA: "You must be the Duke."
She curtsied awkwardly. Too low. Too long.
KAEL (coolly): "That I am."
His voice washed over her like the wind from a storm: deep, cold, and quiet before the thunder.
She straightened, peering up at him as if inspecting a puzzle.
LYSANDRA: "You're taller than I imagined. And more bloodstained."
KAEL: "I was in battle."
LYSANDRA: "Yes, well, I suppose that's where one gets blood on one's armor. Unless you're terrible at soup."
The room remained silent.
A flicker passed across Kael's lips—almost a smile, quickly strangled.
He stood and descended the steps with calm grace. Towering over her, he reached for her hand.
She offered it like she might a frog.
His touch was gentle. Strange, given the calluses and dried blood.
KAEL (softly): "You're smaller than I remember."
LYSANDRA (blinking): "Pardon?"
KAEL: "You were taller… in the reports."
LYSANDRA (suspiciously): "You read reports about me?"
KAEL: "Of course."
LYSANDRA: "Well, did the reports say I like pastries and hate politics?"
KAEL: "They said you were naive."
LYSANDRA (proudly): "That's offensive. I'm delightfully unpredictable."
She smiled.
Kael did not.
But deep beneath his stillness, something shifted.
He knew her.
Princess Lysandra of Ellira.
The girl who once gave him half her bread when he was a boy in rags. The one who asked him if he was a merchant, and didn't care when he said yes.
She had no idea who he was now.
And he would not tell her.
Not yet.
RONEVAL – GUEST WING
That night, in a wing of the fortress prepared for her, Lysandra spun in circles in her oversized guest room.
LYSANDRA (to herself): "Okay, Lys, let's think."
She opened a wardrobe, stuck her head inside, and whispered.
LYSANDRA: "Infiltrate the Duke. Manipulate him. Get freedom. Find childhood sweetheart. Reclaim kingdom. Simple."
A pillow hit her in the face. She'd spun too far and tripped.
LYSANDRA: "Ow! Maybe not that simple."
From the hallway, the guards outside exchanged a look.
One whispered, "Is she mad?"
The other muttered, "Or just planning something worse."
Back in his chambers, Kael stood before a mirror, shirt half-unlaced, staring at the daisy she had once pressed into a letter years ago.
He remembered the sound of her laugh, the way she used to stomp through puddles barefoot, and how she once declared him her "favorite commoner merchant."
Now she was his.
And no one would touch her.
Not without consequences.
Preview – Chapter 3: Silks and Steel
Lysandra attempts to charm the court with a ridiculous speech—and accidentally offends half of Kael's war generals. But when someone tries to humiliate her at dinner, Kael's wrath surfaces, though veiled. Beneath the surface, Lysandra begins to suspect there's more to this cold Duke… and he begins to wonder if she will survive her own clever mouth.