Chapter 86: Home

Chapter 86: Chapter 86: Home

House Valmort looked exactly the same.

Which, Marian decided, was deeply unfair.

The manor stood exactly where it always had.

The gardens remained immaculate.

The servants greeted her warmly.

Nothing had changed.

Meanwhile, her entire life had apparently caught fire.

"Welcome home, my lady."

Marian smiled automatically.

"Thank you."

The servants took her luggage.

The housekeeper fussed over whether she had eaten properly during the hunting retreat.

Someone asked about the weather.

Another asked whether she enjoyed herself.

Marian nearly choked.

Enjoyed herself?

That was certainly one way to describe it.

A very inaccurate way.

But technically a way.

Somehow she made it through the conversation without embarrassing herself.

Barely.

The moment she reached her room, she closed the door.

Then immediately collapsed face-first onto her bed.

Silence.

Blessed silence.

For several moments she remained there.

Not moving.

Not thinking.

Just existing.

Unfortunately, thinking eventually returned.

Which was unfortunate.

Because the moment it did—

Cassian.

Marian groaned and buried her face deeper into the blankets.

This was becoming a problem.

A serious problem.

The memory appeared immediately.

Safe travels.

Until we reach the capital.

Such ordinary words.

Such completely harmless words.

And yet somehow she had spent half the journey smiling about them.

Pathetic.

Absolutely pathetic.

The realization should have embarrassed her.

Instead it made her smile again.

Which was not helping.

At all.

Then reality returned.

Her father.

The smile vanished instantly.

Marian sat upright.

Because eventually she would have to tell him.

Not Adrian.

Not Cassian.

Her father.

The Duke of Valmort.

A man she loved very much.

A man she respected.

A man who would undoubtedly have opinions.

Many opinions.

Most of them terrifying.

Marian stared at the opposite wall.

Perhaps she could tell him tomorrow.

Tomorrow sounded excellent.

Tomorrow was a wonderful invention.

Today, unfortunately, still existed.

And yet—

For the first time since arriving home, another realization appeared.

She wasn’t regretting her choice.

Not even slightly.

She was terrified.

Anxious.

Completely overwhelmed.

But not regretful.

The thought settled quietly inside her chest.

And somehow that made everything easier.

Only a little.

But enough.

--

Across the capital, Cassian Ashford had been home for less than twenty minutes before work found him.

Predictably.

"Your Grace."

His steward followed him into the study.

Notebook already open.

An ominous sign.

"The eastern estates require a decision regarding the harvest contracts."

Cassian nodded.

"Tomorrow."

"The military budget reports have arrived."

"Later."

"The merchants from Westhaven are requesting an audience."

"Next week."

The steward scribbled furiously.

Then continued.

"The council representatives—"

"Tomorrow."

"The trade commission—"

"Later."

"The—"

The man stopped.

Slowly.

Because Cassian had finally sat down.

And was actually paying attention.

A rare event.

"Something else, Your Grace?"

Cassian rested his elbows on the desk.

Thinking.

The journey home had given him plenty of time.

Enough to reach one unavoidable conclusion.

Waiting would solve nothing.

Adrian would not wait.

The capital would not wait.

Neither would gossip.

Which left only one reasonable option.

"Arrange a meeting with Duke Valmort."

Silence.

The steward blinked.

Once.

Then twice.

For perhaps the first time in years, he appeared genuinely surprised.

"Duke Valmort, Your Grace?"

Cassian looked up.

"Is there another one?"

The steward wisely ignored the question.

Though the look on his face suggested he had approximately fourteen new questions.

All of which he intended to ask someone else.

Immediately.

"I’ll make the arrangements."

Good.

Because Cassian had no intention of hiding.

The realization felt strangely liberating.

Whatever happened next—

He intended to face it directly.

--

Meanwhile, at the Imperial Palace, everyone appeared to have lost their minds.

Or perhaps they had always been this way.

Adrian had not yet decided.

The palace remained exactly as he remembered.

Efficient.

Organized.

Predictable.

A welcome change.

At least in theory.

"Your Highness."

His secretary appeared almost immediately.

Naturally.

The man possessed an uncanny ability to locate Adrian within minutes of his arrival.

"There are several matters requiring your attention."

Adrian continued walking.

"Proceed."

"The Trade Ministry has submitted their western tariff recommendations."

"Tomorrow."

"The Imperial Academy requests a decision regarding next year’s scholarship program."

"Later."

The secretary nodded.

Made a note.

Then hesitated.

A dangerous sign.

Adrian glanced sideways.

"What?"

The secretary cleared his throat.

"There is one additional matter."

Of course there was.

"The discussion you mentioned before departing the hunting lodge."

Silence.

"The engagement discussion."

Adrian stopped walking.

Slowly.

His secretary immediately looked as though he regretted every decision that had led him to this moment.

"What about it?"

The man chose his words carefully.

Very carefully.

"The palace staff has naturally become aware that some discussion is expected."

Naturally.

Palaces survived entirely on gossip and expensive furniture.

"The assumption is that it concerns Lady Elena."

For a moment Adrian simply stared.

Then—

Unexpectedly—

He laughed.

A short sound.

Completely devoid of amusement.

His secretary looked alarmed.

Reasonably.

"Lady Elena."

The name felt absurd.

Months.

The capital had spent months discussing Elena.

The rumors.

The speculation.

The endless gossip.

Every noble in the Empire seemed convinced that Elena represented some great romantic obstacle.

And apparently his own secretary believed the same thing.

Remarkable.

Truly remarkable.

"If the issue were Lady Elena, it would already be resolved."

The words escaped before he could stop them.

His secretary blinked.

Clearly uncertain whether a response was required.

Wisely, he remained silent.

Adrian resumed walking.

Elena.

For months he had assumed Marian’s unhappiness stemmed from Elena.

It was the obvious explanation.

The logical explanation.

The explanation everyone else had accepted.

Now he knew better.

Elena had never been the problem.

The realization should have been comforting.

Instead it only made him angrier.

Because Elena was simple.

Rumors were simple.

Politics were simple.

Those things could be fixed.

Managed.

Controlled.

Cassian was not.

And somehow that irritated him far more than it should have.

"Your Highness?"

The secretary was still waiting.

Waiting for instructions.

Waiting for clarity.

Waiting for the answer everyone in the palace apparently expected.

Adrian’s expression cooled.

"There will be no changes to Lady Marian’s status."

The secretary froze.

Then lowered his head immediately.

"Understood."

Good.

Because as far as Adrian was concerned, there was nothing else to understand.

Lady Marian Valmort remained his fiancée.

That fact had not changed.

No matter what anyone else seemed to think.

For several moments Adrian stood alone in the corridor after the secretary departed.

His gaze settled on the palace gardens beyond the window.

Marian believed she loved Cassian.

Fine.

Then he would simply prove she was wrong.

The thought should have sounded unreasonable.

Instead it felt perfectly logical.

Eighteen years.

Against three days.

No.

Adrian closed his eyes briefly.

Marian was confused.

Hurt.

Emotional.

And Cassian—

His jaw tightened.

Cassian should never have involved himself.

When Adrian opened his eyes again, his expression was calm.

Controlled.

Perfectly composed.

Yet beneath that calm sat something far less reasonable.

Something proud.

Something possessive.

Something determined.

He had not agreed.

And he still didn’t.