"I hope my letter was a clear statement of my expectations of you." The Duke said huskily, not looking once at Freya.

Freya narrowed her eyes, steadied her breath and responded: "Of course, milord. I am aware of my position – an obedient wife who deals with social matters only and sips the words of your vile acquaintances. A supposedly narrow-minded woman, an object, a property, and part of a game she is not even allowed to play." She ended her speech with an apparent victory, slaughtered later by his retort.

"I am on the verge of marrying a woman I absolutely despise, so you are not the only one who loathes this arrangement. Unfortunately, for both of us, you were ferociously requested by the crowd and therefore, even my opinion is unnecessary."

"I am sure your ego must have suffered terribly. You are using the word crowd as if they were dim-witted peasants with no judgment whatsoever. They are people just like us!" Freya exclaimed, not knowing why she felt the need to defend them.

"You cannot compare an uneducated person with the Duke himself." He said, approaching her with carefully-chosen steps.

"I can, because I know they have more soul than you will ever have."

For a moment, she thought the colour of his eyes shifted into a darker shade of blue, and his knuckles turned white. It must have been a matter of shadows, because as soon as he closed the gap between them completely, the supposition vanished into thin air.

"I can hurt you so subtly that you will fail to notice. Do not provoke me." The Duke growled, narrowing his eyes to the point where his pupils looked like a crescent.

"Sir, it is time." John announced, scattering the tension filling the room.

The Duke offered his arm and Freya obediently accepted it. Even if they barely touched each other, she could still feel a disturbing sensation of warmth flooding her. It must be my frustration. Before reaching the velvet stairs, John handed them two glasses of champagne. The forthcoming toast was welcomed by the ceremonially-displayed guests, each of them holding a glass of the same expensive liquid.

"We are happily celebrating our marriage, a prelude to a prolific rebirth of the Duchy. Let us toast in honour of this event!" The Duke exclaimed, his lips curving into a treacherous smile.

"Long live the Duke!"

"Wasn't this saying addressed to the Queen?" Freya asked in a whispering voice, watching everyone going to their seats.

"It is a subtle form of mockery. Even the Queen knows that the Duchy of Eastbroke outreached her."

Freya remained silent. If he exceeded the Queen herself, her chances of rebellion were quickly reduced to none.

They reached the central table, the one enclosed by the most important royals. Freya only remembered their titles. Shame on you, for valuing titles over names! She scolded herself, analyzing the guests' features as much as her seat permitted.

"What a lovely dress you have, Freya!"

"Yes, and the hair is marvellous! Who is your stylist?"

"Your make-up is amazing!"

Freya could feel their hypocrisy just like animals could sense the coming of a storm. The burden weighed on her again and she suddenly felt the need to sit. The Duke soon followed her and started talking about trivial things, with an easiness who startled Freya. If he was able to mimic others' demeanour so well, how many things about him remained unknown?

Hearing the guests' conversations, Freya realized one resemblance with the servants – the compulsion of never calling the Duke by his first name. This exaggerated diplomacy turned her blood into venom. After a couple of minutes, Julian touched her thigh, forcing her to be verbally-active. Only after she got rid of the burning sensation of his touch did she fully engage in the discussion.

"I agree with your opinion, madam, but don't you think we must give children a freedom of choice?" Freya asked, making sure her words sounded like honey.

"An intellectual one, you mean?" The middle-aged woman frowned, her hectic movement dangling her diamond bracelet.

"You cannot expect success in a certain domain if you do not provide the means for reaching that goal. How could I uplift my pupils if I force them to study unnecessary notions?" Freya continued, oblivious of the royals' horrified gazes.

"Therefore, you blatantly admit some of the notions you teach are useless?"

"The notions I am supposed to teach. The current syllabus does not pave the pupils' path to a desired future career."

The same middle-aged woman smiled spitefully in the direction of Julian, who agreed with her in a single head movement.

"Freya is someone you could recognize from a thousand miles. Please excuse her for the lack of diplomacy, she is not fully educated in the royals' spirit." Julian explained, tracing an apparently-feeble smile.

The frowning madam, whose name and function Freya did not bother to memorize, relaxed almost instantly, her whole appearance changing within a heartbeat. She now looked serene, as if coming out of a bedtime story.

"Of course, Julian, I understand. She has plenty of time to learn!"

Freya was on the verge of unearthing a very meaningful insult, but Julian sensed her just in time. He approached her calmly. From the guests' point of view, he was whispering lovely words to his future wife, but in reality, the tone of his voice was not gentle at all.

"I warned you to behave appropriately. They contribute to the finances of the Duchy and if we lose their support because of your insubordination, we lose everything." His breath fanned against her neck, making her shudder in response.

Freya closed her eyes for a few seconds and the same burdening sensation flooded her. Why would the crowd prefer a secondary school teacher over some fancy royal? She has been haunted by this question ever since the first official letter arrived. Her way of living before this life-changing decision was neither too simple, nor too hectic. It was normal, and normality was just fine. But now... she won't be able to teach without two bodyguards waiting outside the classroom; she won't visit Maeve in peace, because of being watched; she will not suffer or cry by herself. The resemblance between her and a bug under a microscope grew more and more vividly.

"Are you alright, darling? Are you feeling nauseous?" A man with a curled moustache asked.

"If you will excuse me..." Freya mumbled, bowing her head down. She left the table, trying not to remember everyone's whispers as she hurried up the stairs. Only knowing the location of one room, she headed towards Julian's office.

Right then, the paintings, the wallpaper, the carefully-embedded furniture, they all seemed meaningless. They were equal to nothing. Freya herself felt like nothing. Her whole life felt like nothing. The anxiety consumed her like gangrene. She did not want to resemble Anna, but truthfully, her current state of mind was depicting her mother's exactly.

Breathe, Freya, breathe!

"What on earth do you think you are doing?" Julian yelled as he stepped into his office. Freya only heard his fierce voice, because her eyes were so closed they almost hurt.

"Please, do not yell at me." Freya begged in a humble voice.

Julian has never been at a loss for words. He knew that Freya would never be an obedient wife. As much as he despised her outer manifest of disgust, he appreciated the qualities valued by his people. But seeing a meek Freya begging for gentleness was almost unbearable. Was she afraid of him?

"I am sorry. I know this change must be difficult for you, but people now depend on you." The Duke said, matching his voice to comfort her.

Freya's gaze transferred from the floor to his cerulean eyes, not sure whether his kindness was a mere illusion.

"I cannot have people counting on me. I, of all your potential wives, am the least appropriate for this duty. Why, for God's sake, was I chosen?" Freya asked, the sincerity of her dilemma startling Julian.

He answered truthfully, conscious of her ability to see beyond his lies. "My people, our people, wanted a witty person - someone who could sense their problems even when they failed to confess, someone who could tame the Duke himself in order to serve the people's interest. That person is you."

Freya blinked her tears away, her reticence still present. "Do you actually admit I could tame you?"

Julian's mouth curved at its edges. He was amazed by his satisfaction regarding Freya's behavioural change, but he did not complain. "A man confessing his weakness is by far superior to someone avoiding the truth. Yes, I do."

Freya stood up, evened the creases of her dress and approached her future husband in a vaguely innocent manner. "I should have recorded your statement in order to blackmail you later." She uttered, revealing a playful smile that matched Julian's curved lips.

"It sounds like something you would do."

"Well, at least your life will not be boring anymore." She added, sliding her arm under his. "I think I am ready to face the..."

"The back-stabbing, hypocritical royals? I know, love, some of them are utterly boring. But, as I have previously stated, we need them."

Freya blinked twice while finding herself unable to answer. Love. She was aware that his response simply sustained the conversation, but the word rolling off his tongue send shivers down her spine. How wondrous it would be for him to actually mean what he has just said.

"Shall we?"

Freya nodded, descending the stairs alongside him. The same curious eyes followed them, but the future Duchess was not bothered by them anymore. Oddly, Julian's comforting words penetrated her anxiety just in time. His effect on her feelings was welcoming and dangerous. He has already seen a weak Freya begging for gentleness. She must not let that occur once more.

Reaching their seats, the Duke smiled reassuringly, motioning Freya to her seat. The man with curled moustache and the woman wearing a diamond bracelet returned his smile, sighing with relief.

"I have thought something grave happened to you! Darling, it is so fortunate to have you back!" The middle-aged woman exclaimed.

"Thank you, madam, need not worry. The beauty of this ceremony is overwhelming, indeed." Freya responded, much to Julian's delight.

I believe she will reach a royal refinement soon. Thank God she did not confront anyone again! The Duke felt relieved, but he was still obliged to stay vigilant. When referring to Freya, he could not predict anything and that left him in awe. A permanent awe, truthfully.

"Julian would do anything to make a ceremony perfect! You must have realized he is a perfectionist!" The man Freya had laid eyes upon replied.

"Do you demand perfection in all matters?" Freya asked her future husband, her heart pounding loudly.

Julian tensed, sensing a trap beyond her words. Did she actually believe he would fall for it? "Perfection is relative. If you are referring to a woman, she would only reach marital perfection if she managed to please her husband completely."

Freya raised her eyebrows, struggling not to frown. 21st century must be a novelty for him. Women were exclusively meant to satisfy men back in the 18th century; she refused to believe such a dreadful regression!

"I agree with you, Julian. Wives should accept this conduct when marrying." Some royal backed his statement.

Unfortunately for the fork that bent under Freya's fingers, she felt like a volcano on the verge of exploding. Were men really that fogey? Was Julian testing her or did he simply intend to infuriate her?

"They may accept your condition on the surface, but trust me, still waters are the most dangerous." Freya retorted, her gaze fixated on Julian.

"Then I must be safe, because you are definitely not still." He smirked teasingly.

"You should reconsider your statement, darling. You will never predict my actions." She responded, smiling innocently.

"The two of you are simply adorable! Why don't you enchant us with a waltz?" Another woman asked in a provocative manner.

Freya gulped, sensing the challenge. Still feeling the remnants of Julian's touch on her thigh and palm, she nodded, waiting for the Duke's approval. He winked at the challenger and rose from his seat, offering his hand to the nervous Freya.

It is just a dance, not love-making. Why am I so uneasy? She asked herself, accepting Julian's hand as they headed for the dancing floor. The Duke's gaze was more stirring than a thousand pairs of eyes.

Naturally, the other dancers cleared away the path towards the center of the ballroom. The guests watched them, their mouths slightly agape, as if awaiting the descent of angels among them. Freya felt the tension building up inside her. Her intention of backing away was ceased by Julian's powerful hand which forced her to look straight into his cerulean eyes.

Eyes mirror the soul, her mother used to say. That very moment, when the light of the gilded chandeliers towered above them and her heart threatened to escape her ribcage, Anne's statement did not sound clichéd at all.

Julian's eyes were a storm of rage, pain and self-deprivation. They resembled the weeping sky during an autumnal evening and the deep waters of an undisclosed ocean. And yet, apart from sorrow, they unearthed something else. Eagerness. As the rhythmic beats of the waltz filled the Central Hall, the Duke loosened his shoulders and smiled tenderly.

"Are you a melomaniac?" She inquired, whispering into his ear. Julian quivered slightly, his tremor spreading down Freya's spine as well. His ragged breath fanned against her cheek and she found herself drawing closer to him. She took the expression body to body to a whole new level.

"Among other things." The corners of his mouth curved slightly. "Do not be afraid. Right now, it is not about pleasing the guests, but yourself. There is no need for a perfect position, or a sober one, as long as you are enjoying it."

"I thought royals should dance in the most severe conformity."

"Couples are not obliged to do so. And since the music has been playing for about five minutes, I suppose you do not mind waltzing now, do you?"

Freya blushed and responded in a whispery tone. "I apologize, but it is quite intimidating." Julian towered over her and lowered his hand on Freya's back, tracing smooth circles on his way down.

"The dance..." He took a step forward. "... or me?"

Freya blushed again, but she was capable enough to deviate his attention to the waltz, as she took a step back and then turned elegantly. The guests exhaled in a relieved, yet admiring motion. It seemed they had lost track of their own needs, because they were completely focused on the pair swinging evenly.

Julian was a good lead. Ever since he started dancing lessons, he has been the perfect apprentice, being able to create a fairytale based on every step that he chose to perform. The Duke smoothly merged the prologue into the first chapter of the waltz, reading Freya's body language as he moved according to the music.

She was nervous. Her fluttering lashes and the subtle drops of sweat gliding down her forehead were clear signs of excitement. Julian appreciated her endeavour of acting like a follow and obeying firmly. In those moments, she trusted him. And oddly enough, he loved the sensation of being trusted, even if he knew the feeling would not last much longer. After the waltz had finished, she would recompose the barrier between them as fast as she had stripped of it the moment their hands collided.

Freya did feel exposed, as if Julian could interpret her every movement, like a tailor seeing through the sheer fabric of a dress. That feeling of transparency was so luring it actually felt like sin. But was it indeed? Could his understanding of her intentions be such an appalling thing? She was so consumed by the heat radiating between them that she found herself unable to answer those two questions.

His broad shoulders, the firm line of his jaw, the flexing muscles visible from underneath his tuxedo, every single feature rendered her speechless. Again. He was mesmerizing, dangerous and frustrating. A deadly combination, she admitted internally.

The last seconds of the waltz came to an end and the royal couple turned smoothly to face the animated guests. Any further comments would be pointless. The applause seemed everlasting and the sincere appreciation was blissful indeed. For the first time since she has tasted the forbidden fruit called Duchy, she actually believed royals were capable of raw sincerity, even if limited to a waltz.

"Were we that enchanting?" Freya asked Julian, squeezing his hand slightly.

The Duke chuckled and responded accordingly, kissing her hand in a formal, yet intimate manner. "We have just given them a sip of what is to come."

"What..."

Julian put a finger to his lips, forcing her to cease her question. Duty first, he reminded Freya, raising a hand in the air to draw the guests' complete attention.

"Thank you for being present to the prelude of our marriage. We are greeting all of you with our sincerest consideration and welcome you to enjoy the rest of the night!" The Duke exclaimed, inviting Freya to join him to his office.

When the last round of applause ended, Freya was already on the leather couch in Julian's office. John taught her the royal couple never stays until the event has finished. They share one or two dances together, chatter with the guests and leave them to enjoy the party on their own. This conduct was a mixture of Cinderella's midnight withdrawal and the forbidden fruit Freya has recently referred to. A conduct much to her relief, since she could not stand hypocrisy yet.

"What was the question I have interrupted?" Julian asked, pouring himself a glass of whisky.

"I would like to know what the meaning of your statement was." She inquired, watching the Duke taking a sip of the burning liquid.

"The day after tomorrow, the Queen organizes the Annual Royal Gala, where every noble is invited. Some international royals will also attend this event, mostly people with whom we share diplomatic and political relations. It will be the perfect occasion for you to verify and improve your knowledge of this new life you are about to begin."

"I cannot take part in this event. I am terribly sorry, but I have other plans." The image of Julian's jaw clenching was troubling indeed.

"Pardon me? What would be more important than fulfilling one of the many duties a Duchess has?" Freya understood that his question was rhetorical. She gulped a few times before finally gathering the courage to speak up.

"I am taking my pupils to the Angels Caring Center as volunteers."

"I have heard of this center and the high intellect of your pupils. But truthfully, I do not see why your plan should outreach the importance of this Gala." Julian continued his argument, analyzing Freya's reaction to his indifference.

"Because this Gala has no impact on the people whatsoever. It does nothing for the benefit of the non-royals, it only fuels fantasies! The center and my pupils are important. If you deprive me of this two shelters, I can assure you of my lack of collaboration. You cannot rip my soul like that. Please!"

Julian could read frustration all over her pudgy body. As twitching as his heart was at the moment of their conversation, he could not let her loose. Subordination was obligatory for a nobleman's wife. Even though the crowd had requested a wife who could confront him any time she considered necessary, he refused to be at the mercy of his people. He was the Duke: he ruled, he ordered, he conquered - many a trait of a dictator – and being weighed on by a secondary school teacher and the future-to-be Duchess was inconceivable.

"I am sure you can reschedule your activity. Anyway, our tailors will be manufacturing an appropriate dress for the Gala. John will transmit any further information you may request. This being said, I wish you a pleasant sleep."

Julian was preparing to leave the office and let the butler lead Freya to her room, but she could not bear such indifference. Luckily for both of them, her phone rang at the exact moment. She picked it up from her purse and answered the call.

"Is everything alright, Madam Johnson? How is Paul?"

All Freya could hear were sobs, heart-ripping sobs coming from the other end of the line. How could someone's pain be so powerful to transcend space and vibrate right through Freya's soul?

"The classroom has burned to ashes, miss. Every single part of it."