Chapter 88: A Father’s Problem

Chapter 88: Chapter 88: A Father’s Problem

Duke Valmort did not sleep well.

This was Marian’s fault.

A conclusion he reached at approximately three o’clock in the morning.

And maintained until sunrise.

Unfortunately, identifying the source of a problem did not solve it.

The Duke sat alone in his study.

A cup of tea rested beside him.

Long since cold.

Several reports lay open across his desk.

Unread.

Ignored.

Entirely abandoned.

His attention remained fixed on a far more troublesome matter.

His daughter.

More specifically—

His daughter’s engagement.

The Duke leaned back in his chair.

And once again replayed yesterday’s conversation.

I would like to end the engagement.

Even now, the words felt strange.

Not impossible.

Merely strange.

Marian was not impulsive.

She was not dramatic.

And she certainly wasn’t cruel.

If she had come to him with something like that, then she must have a reason.

The problem was that Duke Valmort did not know what that reason was.

Which irritated him.

Greatly.

Because he disliked missing information.

And currently, he was missing a great deal of it.

The Crown Prince had his flaws.

Many of them.

The Elena situation alone had inspired several strongly worded opinions over the past year.

Yet even that explanation failed to satisfy him.

Because if Lady Elena were truly the problem—

Why now?

The rumors were not new.

The gossip was not new.

The capital had been whispering about Elena for months.

Marian had endured all of it.

Patiently.

Quietly.

Without complaint.

So why had she chosen this moment?

Why return from a three-day hunting retreat and suddenly decide that eighteen years should end?

No.

The more Duke Valmort thought about it, the less sense it made.

Something had changed.

Something during those three days.

And whatever that something was—

Marian had not told him.

The Duke sighed.

Then rubbed his temple.

Because understanding Marian’s reasons was only half the problem.

The other half was considerably worse.

Assuming she truly intended to proceed—

What happened next?

The question had occupied most of the previous night.

And none of the answers had been particularly encouraging.

A royal engagement was not a simple agreement between noble families.

Not one like this.

Not after eighteen years.

Not after an entire generation had grown up assuming Marian would one day become Crown Princess.

The engagement touched everything.

The Imperial Family.

The nobility.

Political alliances.

Public expectations.

Even if both parties agreed, dissolving it would be difficult.

And Adrian did not agree.

That complication alone was enough to inspire a headache.

The Duke frowned.

Could Adrian refuse?

Technically?

Practically?

Politically?

The answer appeared to be different depending on which question one asked.

A deeply irritating situation.

Then there was the Emperor.

Would His Majesty support Adrian?

Support Marian?

Remain neutral?

The Duke honestly didn’t know.

Which he disliked immensely.

Then there was House Valmort itself.

Not politically.

Personally.

Because regardless of what happened, society would talk.

Society always talked.

And once the Empire learned that the future Crown Princess no longer intended to become Crown Princess—

The gossip would be unbearable.

The Duke closed his eyes briefly.

There were procedures for inheritances.

Procedures for treaties.

Procedures for trade disputes.

There were even procedures for wars.

Yet somehow there seemed to be remarkably few procedures for:

My daughter no longer wishes to marry the Crown Prince.

Highly inconvenient.

Extremely inconvenient.

A more troubling thought followed.

Perhaps none of this would matter.

Perhaps Marian simply needed time.

A week.

A month.

Distance from whatever had happened during the retreat.

The possibility existed.

People changed their minds.

Especially when emotions were involved.

The Duke wanted to believe that.

Very much.

Yet every time he tried, another question appeared.

What if she doesn’t?

The thought lingered.

Persistent.

Impossible to dismiss.

Because while he could not claim to know exactly what Marian was thinking—

He knew his daughter.

And she had not come to him lightly.

Which meant there was at least a chance that she meant every word.

And if she did—

Then the Empire itself would eventually have to respond.

A knock interrupted his thoughts.

"Enter."

A servant stepped inside.

"Your Grace."

The Duke set down his pen.

"Yes?"

"The Duke of Ashford has arrived."

Silence.

The Duke stared.

Once.

Then twice.

Because suddenly a memory surfaced.

Not important at the time.

Yet strangely relevant now.

Marian returning from the hunting retreat.

The Duke of Ashford returning from the hunting retreat.

The Crown Prince returning from the hunting retreat.

Three people.

One problem.

The thought vanished almost as quickly as it appeared.

Coincidence.

Probably.

Hopefully.

The Duke rubbed his temple.

His headache immediately worsened.

"Duke Ashford is here for the audience he requested yesterday."

Right.

That.

The Duke had almost forgotten.

Almost.

Not entirely.

Because if he was honest, he had been curious.

Cassian Ashford did not request private meetings without reason.

The man was many things.

Impulsive was not one of them.

"Show him in."

The servant bowed.

And departed.

The Duke exhaled slowly.

Then reached for his tea.

Only to discover it had gone cold.

An omen.

Almost certainly.

A few moments later, the study door opened once more.

And Duke Cassian Ashford entered.

The Duke of Valmort rose.

Courtesy demanded it.

The two men exchanged greetings.

Polite.

Measured.

Entirely proper.

Then they sat.

For several moments, neither spoke.

The silence wasn’t uncomfortable.

Merely cautious.

The silence of two men accustomed to choosing their words carefully.

Then Duke Valmort noticed something.

Cassian looked calm.

Composed.

Respectful.

Yet beneath all of that sat something else.

Resolve.

The sort of resolve that appeared when a man had already made a decision before entering the room.

Immediately, the Duke’s headache worsened.

Because he had developed a deep distrust of determined young men.

Especially this week.

Finally, Duke Valmort folded his hands atop the desk.

And asked the obvious question.

"What can I do for you, Your Grace?"

Cassian met his gaze directly.

No hesitation.

No preamble.

No attempt to soften the blow.

"I would like to discuss Lady Marian."

Silence.

Absolute silence.

The Duke stared.

Then very slowly leaned back in his chair.

Because suddenly—

Very suddenly—

Several pieces on the board shifted.

Not enough to reveal the entire picture.

But enough to make him uneasy.

"I see."

No.

The Duke absolutely did not see.

Not yet.

But he was beginning to suspect he would not enjoy whatever came next.