Frederick Heinrich von Herheid watched the dark-haired girl. He didn't realize the imprinting process was complete. In her mind, the man from a different world had already become her sole protector.

His logic remained sharp. A girl appearing in his private hunting grounds, claiming total memory loss, was a classic setup. He had survived years of deployment and "accidental" encounters designed to lure the Herheid heir into bed.

Frederick was a Catholic baptized by the Pope, strictly following a code of religious restraint. In the dirty high society of Europe, his celibacy made him the ultimate prize. If a woman broke his taboo, he would likely offer marriage to maintain his loyalty to God.

He shifted his arms, the fabric of his shirt straining against the muscles of his chest. There was no denying her beauty. Her skin had the luster of jewelry, and her amber eyes were as clear as a mountain lake in winter.

"Why are you being mean?" Arabella pouted. She looked at him as if he were a mother bird and she a hatchling. "It isn't my fault I can't remember... you aren't allowed to look at me like that!"

Frederick's lips quirked. Liars needed talent, and she seemed to lack it. Still, the amnesia made things complicated. He pulled a thin gold case from his suit pocket.

"Birdie, I'm going to the balcony for a smoke," Frederick said, his voice heavy with authority. "Ring the bell if you need anything." He stepped out into the dim twilight, the sharp silhouette of his jaw catching the light as he struck a match.

A soft voice called from behind him. "Frederick...". He turned to see her standing there in an oversized lake-blue flannel gown that had belonged to his grandmother.

She was tiny, barely reaching his collarbone. She stood trapped in the massive shadow he cast against the stone. "Don't... don't stop talking to me," she muttered.

Frederick frowned at her bare feet on the cold marble. "Where are your shoes?". The November air in Germany was already biting.

"I don't have any," she said blankly. He crushed his cigarette and led her back inside to find a pair of thick wool socks. Arabella followed him closely, worried he was angry.

He decided then. He would observe her for a few more days. Once she could care for herself, he'd send her to a JH Foundation facility with a generous settlement.

Arabella sat on the bed and pulled on the socks. Frederick stared at the fireplace mantle, ignoring her. She didn't like being sidelined and reached out to poke his abdomen.

The muscle beneath her finger snapped tight, hard as iron. Frederick's hand shot out, his large palm locking around her wrist like a vice. "What are you doing?" he asked, his blue eyes narrowing.

"I... I was just calling you," she whispered, her voice trembling. She had a tiny brown mole on her left cheek that only became visible when he was this close. It was a delicate, cute mark.

"A lady doesn't touch a stranger, especially below the waist," Frederick said, his voice a low, emotionless baritone. He placed her hand back on her knee and stepped away. He smelled of damp moss and pine needles.

"You're physically fine aside from a mild concussion," he stated. "In two days, I'm sending you to a JH Foundation relief center. They have doctors and will help find your family".

Arabella blinked, processing the words. "Why can't you keep taking care of me?". Her dependence was a crushing weight in the room.

"Because we are strangers," Frederick said, attempting to simplify the situation.

"How are we strangers?" she challenged. "You're Frederick. I'm Birdie. You found me. I only know you".

Frederick began to explain the reality of the world, but a loud, sharp growl cut him off. Arabella immediately clutched her stomach, her face turning crimson. "I'm hungry," she admitted.

Frederick felt the beginning of a headache. She was a sticky, persistent little thing. He checked his watch—half-past six.

"Very well, hungry Bird," Frederick offered a graceful, patient smile. "What would you like to eat?"

The menu was set, a rigid schedule of culinary precision. Frederick asked only out of habit, waiting for the girl to say she didn't mind.

She didn't follow the script. "I want chocolate mousse cake," Arabella said.

Frederick leaned back, his broad shoulders filling the velvet chair. "Chocolate mousse?".

Arabella nodded with frantic energy. The name had clawed its way out of the fog in her mind, a single, sweet anchor in the void.

"Not too much cream, but lots of chocolate," she continued, her amber eyes brightening. "And strawberries... it needs strawberries.".

She gestured toward the air, tracing the shape of a vessel. "And a big pot... with bubbling water... where I throw the meat in to cook.".

Frederick's lips twitched. "Chinese hotpot?".

"Yes! Hotpot," she chirped. "With duck intestines... beef... and lamb.".

Frederick crossed his arms, his deep blue eyes studying the girl who owned nothing but possessed the gall of a queen. "There is no cake, Birdie. And there is no hotpot.".

He had five world-class chefs downstairs capable of creating a feast in minutes. He chose restraint instead.

Spoiling her now would only make the transition to the JH Foundation harder. The foundation served sausages, pork hocks, and bread hard enough to use as a weapon.

Arabella's lip trembled into a pout. "But I want it.".

"You eat what is provided," Frederick replied, his voice dropping into a low, commanding register. "Sit still. I'm removing the IV needle.".

The tape had caused her skin to swell. He approached the bed with iodine and a cotton swab, his large fingers moving with surgical delicacy.

Arabella didn't make a sound as the needle slid out.

"Brave girl," Frederick noted.

"Can I have the cake now?" she whispered, her gaze shimmering.

"Appetite is a desire, and desires require control," Frederick said, guiding her hand to press the cotton over the puncture.

"Then why ask me what I wanted?" she muttered. "Asking and then refusing... that's just a trick.".

Frederick paused, the logic hitting home. "You're right. That was a lapse in my judgment.".

He stood up, adjusting his cuffs. "I'll have the foundation staff replace the weekly cookies with mousse for your arrival.".

Arabella went quiet, swallowing her disappointment like a bitter pill. She didn't want him to be angry.

A maid entered as Frederick stepped into the hall. Master Benjamin had left early, declining dinner.

Frederick barely acknowledged the news of his cousin. "What is for dessert tonight?".

"Blueberry rum cake and hazelnut madeleines, sir.".

"Tell the chef to add chocolate and fresh strawberries to the cake," Frederick ordered.

Arabella retreated to the bathroom to wash up. Frederick sat on the sofa, his long legs crossing as he stared into the gathering twilight.

The sun vanished behind the Blackwood Forest, leaving the room in a heavy, amber silence.

"Frederick! Frederick, come quickly!".

The shout shattered his meditation. He was at the bathroom door in four strides. "Did you fall?".

"No—" Arabella sat on the toilet, her face a mask of pure panic. "I can't... it won't come out.".

Frederick stood rooted to the spot. "Explain.".

"It hurts... like needles," she stammered, clutching the oversized blue flannel gown. "Frederick, am I broken?".

He felt a slow pulse in his temple. "You've relied on a catheter for a week. The retention is normal... you aren't broken.".

"You aren't lying to me?".

"I don't lie," he replied, his voice a steady, grounding anchor through the wood of the door.

"Then help me!" she cried, her voice rising in a frantic chirp. "It hurts so much. Do something!".

Frederick stared at the intricate carvings on the door frame. He handled billion-dollar strategic investments and the legacy of House Herheid.

He had no idea how to handle this.