By afternoon, Marcus had consumed three pots of coffee.
His hands were shaking slightly, but his mind was laser-focused.
It was time for Phase Two: The Duchess.
Visiting the Roselle Duchy in person was too time-consuming, and Marcus wasn’t sure his legs would carry him that far.
A letter was more efficient.
Plus, writing allowed him to carefully craft the narrative without his exhaustion getting in the way.
He sat at his desk in Silverwood Manor and dipped his quill in ink.
To Her Grace, Duchess Catarina Roselle, he wrote.
He stared at the paper. He needed a pretext. He couldn’t just write "Please marry my brother."
Regarding the lumber trade agreement between our territories...
Good. Professional. Now, the pivot.
While reviewing our lumber production, I was reminded of my brother, Theodore. Much like a sturdy oak, he is reliable and strong.
Marcus paused. He read the line back.
It sounded a bit dry.
He crumpled the paper and tossed it on the floor.
Attempt two.
...The lumber shipment will arrive Tuesday. Speaking of arrivals, Theo is arriving at manhood with spectacular grace. His tactical mind is sharp. I believe he would make an excellent Duke-consort for a busy ruler who needs a strong military arm.
He frowned. Too direct?
Maybe. Catarina valued competence, but that felt like a cattle auction.
He crumpled the second page.
Attempt three... then four.
Marcus wrote furiously for an hour.
He poured all his persuasive skills into the text.
He framed Theo as the ultimate support system.
He described Theo’s potential to lead armies, relieving her burden.
He painted a picture of a power couple that would rule the continent.
He signed it with a flourish.
He sealed it with the Aldridge crest and handed it to a courier.
"Ride fast," Marcus told the boy. "The fate of the world depends on that letter."
The boy looked at him like he was crazy, took the coin, and ran.
✧ ✧ ✧
Four hours later, in the solar of the Roselle fortress.
Duchess Catarina Roselle sat in her high-backed chair. A tray of tea sat untouched beside her.
She held the letter in her manicured hands.
She was laughing.
It wasn’t a polite, noble titter. It was a genuine, open laugh that shook her shoulders.
"Oh, Marcus," she whispered.
She reread the third paragraph.
Theodore is quite self-sufficient. He does not require constant attention, which would allow a partner to pursue her own passions. He respects strength.
Catarina lowered the letter.
She looked out the window at her training grounds, where her soldiers drilled in the mud.
"He spends four pages trying to sell me a husband," she said to the empty room. "And in every line, he reveals only himself."
She traced the handwriting. It was jagged and rushed, clearly written in a state of agitation.
"He notices that I am tired," she murmured.
"He emphasizes that Theodore would share the burden because he knows I am drowning in duty. He offers his brother not for power, but because he wants me to rest."
She shook her head.
A warm smile graced her lips, one that would have terrified her political enemies with its softness.
She grabbed a piece of stationery.
Dear Marcus,
Your insights on the lumber trade are noted. However, I find your description of the ’Ideal Partner’ lacking in one area.
You speak of strength and duty. You forget to mention conversation. I desire a partner who challenges my mind, not just my enemies.
Tell me, what books are you reading lately? I require a new recommendation. The last one you suggested saved my sanity during the budget meeting.
Yours,
Catarina.
She sealed the letter.
She didn’t mention Theo once.
✧ ✧ ✧
Dinner at the Aldridge estate was usually a quiet affair.
The dining hall was too large for just two people.
The long table could seat thirty. Theo and Marcus sat at one end, surrounded by empty chairs and the painted eyes of their ancestors.
Tonight, Marcus was vibrating with energy.
He had launched two prongs of his attack. The results were promising.
Theo was demolishing a roasted chicken leg.
He ate with the same intensity he applied to everything—efficient, focused, and slightly terrifying.
"So," Marcus said, cutting his steak into precise squares. "How was the Academy today?"
Theo swallowed. "Fine. Learned a new parry. Good for countering spears."
"Excellent," Marcus said. "Did you see anyone? Speak to anyone?"
Theo paused. He frowned, thinking hard.
"Professor Ashwood was weird today," Theo said.
Marcus’s ears perked up. "Weird how? Did she ask about your training? Did she admire your form?"
"No," Theo said. "She grabbed my arm after class. She checked my pulse."
"Physical contact!" Marcus slammed his hand on the table. "That’s huge, Theo! What did she say?"
"She asked if you were eating enough," Theo said.
"She asked if you had a fever. She gave me a list of herbal teas and told me to make sure you drink them."
Marcus blinked. "Oh."
He recovered quickly.
"That is obviously a pretext. She is using concern for me to get close to you. It’s a classic courting tactic. The ’Family Integration’ strategy."
Theo looked skeptical.
"She seemed pretty focused on you, Brother. She looked scary. She said if I let you work yourself to death, she would melt my training sword."
"She is passionate," Marcus said, waving his fork. "Passionate women are great."
Theo took another bite of chicken. "Also, that transfer student. The elf."
"Iris?" Marcus asked. "What about her?"
"She was hiding in the bushes near the garden path," Theo said. "Where you usually take your evening walk."
"Stalking," Marcus nodded sagely. "Elves are hunters. She is hunting her prey. You are the prey, Theo."
"I wasn’t on the path," Theo pointed out.
"I was at the training grounds. She wasn’t watching me. She was watching the empty path. Waiting."
"Waiting for you to walk down it," Marcus corrected. "She probably memorized my schedule by mistake. Common error."
Theo put down his chicken leg.
He looked at his older brother with bright, guileless blue eyes.
"Brother," Theo said. "Are you sure you know what you’re doing?"
"Of course I do," Marcus said. "I am a professional. I understand people."
"Okay," Theo said. He shrugged.
"But Lady Catarina sent a courier with a package for you earlier. It’s a box of books. There’s a note that says ’For your mind.’"
"See?" Marcus grinned.
"She values my intellect because I am your advisor. By enriching me, she enriches you. It’s trickle-down romance."
Theo stared at him for a long moment.
It was the look one might give a dog chasing its own tail.
"If you say so," Theo said. "Can I have your potatoes?"
"Go ahead," Marcus said.
He leaned back in his chair. He felt a wave of satisfaction wash over him.
Seraphina was engaging with the family.
Catarina was establishing a line of communication.
Iris was scouting the territory.
Operation: Redirect was a resounding success.
Marcus pulled out his crumpled checklist and marked three boxes.
Seraphina: Contact made.
Catarina: Value demonstrated.
Iris: Proximity established.
"Tomorrow," he told Theo, "we step up the game. I’m going to teach you how to compliment a lady’s dress."
Theo looked horrified. "Can’t I just fight a dragon instead?"
"Trust me," Marcus said. "This is much more dangerous."
He didn’t know how right he was.
Outside the window, a silver owl watched them from a tree branch.
Its violet eyes glowed in the moonlight.
It watched Marcus for a long time, tilting its head.
Then, it took flight, heading silently toward the northern forests of the Elven enclave.
Marcus sipped his wine, completely oblivious.