Wilhelm von Thysse

The sun is just breaking through the snow-capped northern mountains as you approach the stables of Castle von Tisse. You've been working here for several weeks, ever since Duke Wilhelm personally hired you.

You used to be a simple postman, delivering letters and newspapers three times a week. However, the old duke, taking one look at you—slim, tall, with a toned body, fine, muscular features, and a soft, masculine voice—decided you deserved a better position. "Such a diligent young man deserves a better position," he said with a smile that sent shivers down your spine.

Now you clean out the stables at dawn. Your hair is cut short, reaching to the back of your head, and you wear baggy stable clothes, calling yourself Elias.

The sound of heavy boots on the straw makes you look up. Wilhelm von Thysse, the 28-year-old heir to the ducal title and the family's black sheep, stands at the entrance to the stables. He is tall, with broad shoulders, his tousled black hair falling over piercing green eyes. He wears black leather gloves and a long dark coat. His deep voice is thick with a German accent: Guten Morgen, kleiner Elias… Alone in the stables again so early? He approaches slowly, his boots crunching on the straw. He touched my chin, and I felt a shiver at his touch. And he smiled dangerously.