Chapter 1: The Proposal

The grand estate of House Vornhart loomed over Draugenshire, its gothic spires piercing the twilight sky. Inside, the halls were adorned with opulent tapestries and flickering candlelight, yet the atmosphere felt heavy, as if the very walls bore witness to the dark legacy of its master.

Annalise sat in the small, dimly lit corner of her chamber, the weight of the moment pressing down on her chest. The night outside was eerily still, the moon casting its pale glow through the narrow window. But inside, her thoughts were in turmoil.

She had seen it again, the vision. The plague, the undead that would rise and claim everything in their wake. She had seen the kingdom of Eldoria's downfall the capital of Draugenshire, her hands stained with blood, and Ethan. Ethan Vornhart, his disfigured face twisted in pain, surrounded by chaos. And there, in the middle of it all, was one undeniable truth: she was bound to him. To his bloodline. To their marriage.

Her heart ached at the thought. It wasn't the kind of marriage she had imagined—one filled with love and affection—but a marriage born of necessity. She could not tell him of the visions. She knew that if she did, he would think her mad, a mere girl lost in some fanciful dream. No, she had to be more careful. She had to convince him that this union was the only way forward, that it wasn't about fate or destiny, but about survival.

Her hands trembled as she gripped the edge of the table, her breath coming in shallow bursts. She had already seen how his eyes would darken with disdain if she spoke of visions. He had no use for her powers—only for logic, for reason. She was no fool. She had lived as a maid long enough to know how society viewed people like her, those with nothing but a mysterious gift.

No, she would not speak of it. She would approach him differently.

Annalise stood up, smoothing down her dress and taking a deep breath. There was no turning back now. She had to do this. Tonight. She had to approach him not as a woman who saw the future, but as someone offering him what no one else would: a chance to continue his bloodline. A chance for him to have a future.

With one last look in the mirror, she adjusted her hair and walked out of her room, her heart pounding as she made her way to Ethan's study.

---

Duke Ethan Vornhart stood at the window of his study, gazing out over the city. His reflection stared back at him—scarred and disfigured, the result of his father's mad experiments. The left side of his face bore a network of jagged scars, a grotesque reminder of the forbidden science that had claimed his childhood and marred his adulthood. He turned away from the glass, unable to bear the sight any longer, and returned to the dimly lit room.

Despite his wealth, Ethan found himself shunned by the very nobility he was born to. They whispered behind closed doors, calling him a monster, a product of his father's madness. But beneath the veneer of contempt lay a fear of the power he wielded—knowledge of ancient magic and cutting-edge technology that few could comprehend.

He had lived a life of solitude, his disfigurement a constant reminder that he was different. He was the product of his father's failed ambitions, a twisted result of an experiment that had gone horribly wrong. The price he had paid for his father's obsession with power was more than just his ruined appearance; it was his standing in the kingdom, his place in society. No one wanted him. No one wanted to be associated with him, least of all a woman.

Ethan's fingers brushed lightly over the scars that marred his face, a motion so familiar it was almost automatic. He had long since stopped hoping that someone would see past them, that someone would look beyond the grotesque deformities his father had left him with. No. He had accepted his fate long ago.

He approached his desk, cluttered with reports and letters from the council. The recent rumors of illness in the lower districts weighed heavily on his mind. His instincts urged him to investigate, but the nobles were quick to dismiss any threat that didn't touch their opulent lives. The last thing he wanted was to be seen as a harbinger of doom.

A knock broke his reverie, and Cedric entered, his expression serious. "My lord, we have a situation."

Ethan braced himself, sensing the tension in the air. "What is it?"

"There's been an outbreak in the lower districts," Cedric reported, his voice steady. "People are disappearing, and we've just had a report of a man collapsing in the market square—claimed that something is coming for them."

Ethan felt a chill run down his spine. "And the council? Do they take it seriously?"

Cedric shook his head, frustration evident in his eyes. "They believe it to be a mere panic. But I think it's more than that. There's something… unnatural about this."

Ethan leaned back in his chair, fingers steepled before him. He could feel the weight of Cedric's gaze, the unspoken question hanging between them. Would he dare to act against the council's wishes? But then the memory of his vision flickered in his mind, the chaotic scenes that had haunted him since childhood—the horrors that had once been dismissed as mere nightmares.

"I want you to send a contingent to the lower districts," Ethan commanded, his voice resolute. "Investigate the claims. If there's even a hint of danger, we must act before it escalates."

Cedric nodded. "As you wish, my lord. I'll gather the knights."

As Cedric turned to leave, Ethan's thoughts drifted to the one person he had yet to consider in this matter: Annalise. The low-born maid had piqued his interest more than he cared to admit. He had seen her observing from the corners of the estate, her sharp eyes taking in the dynamics of the court, seemingly unfazed by the scorn directed at him. 

He recalled the way she'd looked at him, a mix of curiosity and determination. Most nobles turned away, repulsed by his appearance, but Annalise had not flinched. There was a strength in her that intrigued him. Perhaps she held insights that others did not, a perspective born from her life in the lower districts.

Ethan shook his head, dismissing the thought. He had no time for distractions, especially not ones that would lead to further scrutiny and gossip. But the idea of reaching out to her lingered, an echo of an unfulfilled need for connection in a world that had cast him aside.

And yet, tonight, there was something different in the air. The quiet stirrings in the mansion, the soft echo of footsteps in the hallway—it wasn't just another lonely evening. Something was about to happen. He could feel it

The door creaked open, and Annalise stepped inside. She stood there for a moment, her eyes flickering to the floor, then to him, before returning to the floor. She was so different from the others, he couldn't help but notice. Unlike the other servants, who avoided his gaze or muttered beneath their breaths, Annalise didn't flinch. She didn't even seem repelled by his scars. In fact, there was something in her gaze that unsettled him—a kind of quiet resolve, as though she had already made up her mind about something.

"Lord Ethan," she said softly, her voice a calm contrast to the storm raging inside him. "There is something I must speak with you about."

Ethan leaned back in his chair, studying her. "You know, Annalise, you've been in my household long enough to know that I prefer matters of importance. If it's trivial, it can wait."

She hesitated for a moment, as though weighing her words carefully. "It is important, my lord."

"Then speak," he said, his tone edging toward impatience.

Annalise took a steadying breath and stepped closer, her movements deliberate. "I have come to ask for your hand in marriage."

Ethan froze, his heart suddenly racing. "Your hand in marriage?" He chuckled darkly, his gaze falling to the floor for a moment before lifting again to meet her eyes. "You must be joking."

She shook her head, her expression unwavering. "I am not."

He regarded her with skepticism. A marriage proposal from a maid? A woman of no title, no wealth, no standing—what possible reason could she have for such a request? "Why?" he asked, his voice low and incredulous. "Why would you ask for such a thing? You know my reputation. You know what I am."

"I know," Annalise said, her voice steady, though her gaze faltered for a brief moment. "And that is why I am asking. You have no prospects, my lord. No one of your stature would consider marrying you because of your... condition. You will be left with no legacy, no heirs, no future."

Ethan's brows furrowed. "And you think you can provide that for me?" His voice dripped with disbelief. "You, a maid? A woman of no title?"

Annalise met his gaze. "I would bear your children," she said softly, but the words were firm. "I would carry your bloodline forward, even if that is all I can offer. It is not about love or affection, Lord Ethan. It is about duty. About survival. You cannot have a future without heirs."

His mind raced. Her words, though practical, stung. No one had ever been so blunt with him before, so... direct. But there was truth in her words, harsh as they were. His disfigurement had stolen his chance at a future, at a family. No noblewoman would marry him, not when he was a walking reminder of his father's failure.

Ethan felt something stir within him—something he couldn't quite define. He was proud, yes, and the thought of marrying a maid, a commoner, felt like an insult. But the other part of him, the part that knew the reality of his situation, couldn't ignore the desperation in her words.

"You truly think this is the solution?" he asked, his voice almost a whisper now. "A marriage to you will somehow save me?"

"Not just you, my lord," Annalise replied, her voice unwavering. "It will save us both. The bloodline of Vornhart will continue. It must. You cannot let it end with you."

The silence stretched between them, heavy with the weight of her proposal. Ethan's mind whirled with thoughts he couldn't fully process. The woman before him was offering him something no one else would—his legacy, his future. But it wasn't just that. There was something else in her eyes, something more than just duty. It was a kind of hope.

A hope he didn't deserve.

"I will think about it," he said, his voice quiet.

Annalise nodded, her face a mask of resolve. "That is all I ask, my lord."

As she turned to leave, Ethan watched her back, the weight of her words settling in his chest. He had no choice. He had always known his fate was sealed, but now, for the first time, he felt the sting of it.