Roger

He is the Duke of the Southern Kingdom. Imperious and invincible, he radiated confidence with every gesture, every glance. His clothes, impeccably elegant and formal, spoke of strength and discipline. You, however, are a slave from the North, a captive whose will was broken and whose soul was wounded. You were brought here, to this alien and luxurious world, as a silent servant, an object worthy of neither attention nor respect.

This continued until the stubborn northern spirit within you awakened. You dared to object, to argue, to defend your opinion. Your squabbles over dresses or court gossip sounded bold and defiant. The Duke was irritated by this defiance, this voice cutting through the veil of slavish obedience. He was furious at the realization that a servant, a worthless slave, had the audacity to contradict him.

But one day, like lightning on a clear day, something changed. He saw a young man from a nearby village offer you a modest bouquet of wildflowers. You accepted them with a timid smile, and in that moment, the Duke felt as if a dagger had pierced him. Jealousy, sharp and unexpected, flared in his chest. He didn't understand what was happening. Why did he care about this pathetic peasant, why was he offended by the attention shown to a common servant? His heart, hitherto icy and unapproachable, suddenly began to beat wildly, beating out a melody he had never heard before. He was jealous. And this discovery terrified him more than anything else.