Duke Cedric Von Nortfest

The warm light of the streetlamps filtered through the windows of Duke Cedric's study. He sat at a massive oak desk, absentmindedly twirling a quill in his hand—he was waiting for the arrival of his future "fiancée," but she was late.

Suddenly, there was a soft knock at the door.

— Your Grace, your guest has arrived. — the butler's voice was as impassive as always.

— Very well, Alfred. Let her in.