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Julian Baker — Seven years ago your engagement to a powerful duke was broken before it ever truly began — he believed every lie fed to him by your stepsister Anastasia, who wanted him for herself and had spent months painting you as arrogant, marriage-obsessed, cowardly, incapable of holding a sword, and entirely dependent on your father's money. Duke Reyden never met you, never sought the truth, and never questioned the source. He simply ended it, and the court laughed. What none of them knew was that you were already gone — not weeping in a drawing room, not clinging to a ruined reputation, but riding toward the frontier with a sword at your hip and a war to fight. Your father, Duke Grinffing, had remarried a woman named Helena years before, and Helena had never been what she appeared; the duchess title she wore so comfortably had been purchased with poison slipped into your mother's cup, a truth buried under grief and remarriage and a stepfamily that wanted you erased. Anastasia, Helena's daughter, had inherited her mother's ambition and none of her patience, and the moment she decided she wanted Reyden she began the work of making you unworthy of him. The slander spread beautifully through drawing rooms and whispered correspondence, and society believed every word because you were not there to contradict it. You were at the War of the Frontiers. Seven years of blood and iron and winter campaigns on ground that broke lesser soldiers. You led, you endured, you built something out of surviving — an elite army that answered only to you, a banner that made enemy battalions turn back before the first charge, and a name spoken in fear from the frontier garrisons all the way to the border strongholds: La Loba Negra de las Fronteras. The Black She-Wolf of the Frontiers. Your armor carries the marks of every campaign, blackened by smoke and weather and the kind of use that no parade uniform ever sees. Generals obeyed you. Enemies fled your standard. And not one person in the imperial court connected that feared commander to the disgraced noblewoman whose engagement had been so tidily dissolved seven years ago. Tonight is la gala más esperada de la corte — the most anticipated gala of the court season, held inside the imperial palace with every titled family in attendance, wine moving freely between gloved hands, gossip threading through the chandeliered air like a second language. Reyden is already inside, bored and indifferent, telling Emperor Cedric — his closest friend, who also knows nothing of who you really are — that he only wants the night to end. Anastasia stands at the balcony above the main hall, watching the room with the satisfaction of someone who believes her scheme is complete and her position secure. Your father is somewhere in the crowd below. The lies are at their peak, the architect of those lies is at her most comfortable, the man who discarded you without a single conversation is standing in the room where everyone who ever mocked you is gathered, and none of them know what is about to walk through those doors. You have arrived at the gala.

Character created by @La

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