BURNING CROWN | A Dark Royal Romance

BURNING CROWN 05-Contempt

Soft morning sunlight streamed through the tall windows of the Fenhardt Palace. The spacious office was furnished with polished oak pieces. She stood beside an exquisite, gleaming wooden desk, gripping a pen and a notebook, trying to jot down the torrent of orders pouring from the lips of the young man before her.

Elliot sat in a dark leather chair, his posture straight-backed, his sharp eyes radiating an unwavering resolve. His tall, lean frame wore a crisp white shirt and a black waistcoat that fitted his physique so perfectly it made him look like a painting... and as imposing as a sheer cliff face.

"The meeting documents for this afternoon — I want every topic summarized within ten pages... not twenty." His voice was cold as a blade's edge. He spoke while pressing his pen down on the document folder with a loud click.

Nicha looked up immediately. "Just over ten pages? But there are far too many details to condense that much..."

He raised an eyebrow slightly, a mocking smirk glinting in his expression. "Oh... so you're going to argue with me?"

Her lips pressed shut. Courage swelled in her chest. She nearly opened her mouth to retort — yes! — but he spoke first, his deep voice dropping low enough to chill the entire room.

"Before you say anything... think carefully about who you are." His razor-sharp eyes pinned her until she could barely breathe. "I am the Duke of Fenhardt. And you... are nothing more than an ordinary commoner who was picked up and brought to live in this palace."

Those words struck like a slap through the air, she stood frozen. Her face flushed hot with anger and shame.

The large man leaned back in his chair, his lips curving upward once more. "Engrave this in your mind, Nicha... this is not Japan. And there is no one left to shield you anymore."

Nicha clenched her fists until her nails dug into her palms, but all she could do was nod in silence. The words she wanted to hurl back were swallowed down her throat... because she knew now that the man before her was no longer the annoying boss she could argue with freely. He was the duke, the highest authority in this royal palace.

After Elliot's final words, the stifling atmosphere in the room remained heavy. She tried to swallow her choked breath, bowed her head faintly, then quickly gathered the documents and hurried out of the marble office.

She stopped at the corridor balcony. Her heart still pounded erratically. Her hand gripped the folder as though it were her last shield. Her large, round eyes clouded with a mix of anger, hurt, and humiliation.

Her lips trembled before she accidentally murmured aloud.

"That madman... even if he's a Duke, I won't give in."

The sound was softer than the passing wind — but just loud enough for someone walking nearby to hear clearly.

Greda, the elderly maid who had looked after her since the manor days, stopped in her tracks. Her warm eyes glinted faintly before the corner of her mouth curved into an irrepressible smile.

"That's more like it. Now that sounds like the Nicha I know," Greda said softly, as if offering encouragement without letting anyone else notice.

She froze, turning to meet Greda's eyes. Her face flushed with embarrassment at being overheard. But a faint warmth stirred in her chest—as if someone had finally seen what she tried so hard to hide.

She drew a deep breath and thought to herself once more...

Yes... I won't give in. Even if he is the Duke of Fenhardt.

The royal conference room in the Fenhardt Palace was so grand it nearly took her breath away. The soaring ceiling was adorned with ancient paintings depicting the family's legends. A long, polished oak table gleamed. Nobles in full ceremonial dress and powerful politicians in suits from the German government all fixed their gazes upon the head of the table in unison.

The tall figure of Elliot Fenhardt strode in with heavy, decisive steps. Every pair of eyes followed automatically. His deep, sharp eyes radiated an icy calm, as though every person in the room were merely pieces on his chessboard.

Nicha sat at the back — the only personal secretary granted permission to enter. She placed her notebook and pen before her, her hands trembling slightly as she felt the pressure bearing down from all sides. Every pair of eyes seemed to ask: what is an ordinary woman like her doing here?

He sat down in the chair designated for the duke. His wide back leaned firmly against it. He swept his gaze around the table for a moment before speaking in a powerful, deep voice that silenced the entire room.

"From this moment forward, the Fenhardt family will resume its role as one of the pillars of this nation."

Soft murmurs rose around the table. Some expressed agreement. Some looked worried. But all fell silent again when Elliot's sharp eyes turned to each person, one by one.

"And to ensure the business in Japan continues without disruption... the Pentagram Corporation, under the Fenhardt family, will remain under my control," he placed a folder on the table. "Nathan will find someone I trust to manage operations while I am here."

She hurriedly jotted down his words. The sound of pen scratching paper was so rapid her hand could hardly stop shaking.

Then, suddenly, Elliot's eyes flickered toward her for just a fraction of a second. His lips curved up slightly... a smile laden with meaning. He knew she was frightened. And he was doing it deliberately.

Nicha caught herself biting her lip hard before raising her pen to write without looking up. But in her mind, she was arguing silently.

Even if you're a Duke, I won't let you crush me forever, Elliot Fenhardt...

The conference room door closed slowly. The solemnity that had pervaded the room for hours eased once only three people remained... Elliot, Nicha, and Nathan, his closest aide.

She hurriedly gathered the documents and notes, clutching them to her chest, hoping to avoid those deep, sharp eyes that always made her heart tremble. But unfortunately... a thick stack of papers slipped and fell to the floor with a sound that echoed through the marble room.

Her small hand swooped down to pick them up quickly, her face burning as she realized that even the smallest mistake was being watched.

A cool, deep voice sounded above her. "Still clumsy as ever..."

She looked up involuntarily, her large round eyes flashing with displeasure. "I was just—"

Elliot raised his hand to stop her immediately. His curved lips spoke slowly — but with a pressure heavier than any shout.

"Don't forget that this is a royal palace. Not a company in Japan where you could make mistakes and I'd cover for you in front of my grandfather..." His sharp, dark eyes gleamed with a cold light. "There's no one protecting you now. Everything you do... reflects on me."

Nicha gripped the folder tightly. Her lips trembled, wanting to argue, but his words choked the air from her throat. The cruel truth hammered home a status she could not deny.

The large man leaned forward slightly, as if deliberately closing the distance. "So, before you speak or do anything... think carefully about who you are."

Those words resonated in Nicha's chest more deeply than any threat. She looked away, unable to bear the gaze that radiated both authority and mockery.

Nathan, standing behind, watched the scene in silence. His expression was difficult to read... as though he knew some truth about the two of them but chose not to speak.

The room fell silent. Only her breathing grew heavier. And the faint half-smile of the young Duke—as if he were savoring the pressure he was building.

Night at the palace was so quiet she could hear the wind passing through the tall trees. The small quarters she had been given stood at the edge of the garden, a fair distance from the main palace. A dark-tiled roof and plain wooden walls — entirely different from the opulent marble halls she had just left hours ago.

She sat on a narrow wooden bed in her new room, staring silently at the ceiling. Her notebook lay open on her lap, but instead of writing, she was lost in his voice echoing over and over in her mind.

"There's no one protecting you now. Everything you do... reflects on me."

She drew a sharp breath, then tossed and turned before getting up and walking outside. The cold night air wrapped around her entire body, making her hug herself tightly. Moonlight filtered through the branches, casting long shadows on the gravel path.

She had only wanted to find somewhere quiet to clear the voices from her head. But when she turned the corner of a side path, she looked up to find a familiar tall figure already standing there.

Elliot.

The young Duke, in a white shirt with the top two buttons undone, his loosened tie still draped around his neck. One hand tucked in his trouser pocket. His sharp eyes gazing absently up at the night sky, where thousands of stars shone.

Nicha froze. Her heart thundered. She hadn't expected to find him here.

"Why..." she blurted out in a faint voice without thinking.

He turned back slowly, a half-smile appearing. "Why what? You... always like to ask questions you have no right to receive answers to."

She clenched her fists. Courage flared. "I wasn't trying to overstep... but you—"

"You should address me as 'Your Grace.' And you should choose a better pronoun for yourself as well," he cut in.

Nicha faltered slightly before continuing. "Yes. I wasn't trying to overstep... but Your Grace has no right to belittle me all the time like that."

His sharp eyes gleamed. He moved closer until his warm breath brushed against her cheek.

"No right?" The deep voice dragged, low and pressing. "You are nothing but a commoner allowed to live within the palace grounds because I permit it... even the bed in that cottage is only because you exist under the Fenhardt name."

Nicha pressed her lips tight, her heart pounding with both anger and agitation.

He tilted his head down slightly. A cold whisper left as a parting shot. "Don't forget how different our stations are... and I have no intention of letting you forget it. Not even for a single breath."

Then he turned and walked away, leaving only her standing motionless in the cold wind — her heart hammering as though it would burst.