Chapter 96: Yours

Chapter 96: Chapter 96: Yours

Duke Cassian Ashford had discovered something unfortunate.

Love was remarkably bad for productivity.

This was particularly irritating because he had spent twenty-three years being productive.

Then Marian happened.

And suddenly entire afternoons disappeared.

A tragedy.

A genuine tragedy.

"My Lord."

Cassian continued reading.

Or at least pretending to.

The report before him had remained open for nearly ten minutes.

An impressive achievement.

Particularly since he had not absorbed a single word.

His secretary watched this display with increasing concern.

"My Lord."

Cassian hummed absently.

The secretary stared.

Then looked at the report.

Then at his employer.

Then back at the report.

A difficult battle.

The report was losing.

Badly.

Unfortunately.

Cassian had more important things to think about.

Specifically—

Marian.

An alarming pattern.

One that had become increasingly common.

For a moment his gaze drifted toward the window.

The gardens below stretched beneath the morning sunlight.

Peaceful.

Orderly.

Unlike his thoughts.

A dangerous condition.

One that had become increasingly familiar.

A week.

It had been roughly a week.

A week since they had left the lodge.

A week since everything had changed.

A week since Marian had chosen him.

The realization remained no less astonishing now than it had been then.

Marian had chosen him.

Sometimes he still found himself repeating the thought.

Just to confirm it was real.

A deeply embarrassing habit.

One he intended to keep.

His fingers tapped lightly against the desk.

Thoughtful.

He wondered how she was.

The question visited him often.

Far more often than he cared to admit.

He knew Duke Valmort had spoken with her.

He knew difficult conversations were taking place.

He knew the Duke had visited the palace as well.

That news had reached him two days ago.

Predictably.

When two of the most important men in the Empire met privately, people noticed.

No one knew what had been discussed.

At least no one was foolish enough to tell him.

Which meant he knew exactly as much as Marian did.

Nothing.

A deeply unsatisfying situation.

The Duke had spoken with Marian.

The Duke had spoken with Adrian.

Sooner or later—

The Duke would speak with him.

Cassian had known that from the beginning.

The question had never been if.

Only when.

The Crown Prince’s position was not a mystery.

Cassian knew it better than anyone.

They had spoken at the lodge.

A conversation neither of them would soon forget.

Four words.

I do not agree.

Simple.

Direct.

Utterly unhelpful.

Cassian exhaled slowly.

Because the problem had never been understanding Adrian’s position.

The problem was understanding what came after.

The Crown Prince had made himself perfectly clear.

He did not accept Marian’s decision.

He did not accept Cassian’s presence.

He did not accept the conclusion everyone else seemed to be reaching.

That much was obvious.

What remained unclear was what Adrian intended to do about it.

And unfortunately, the future Crown Prince was not a man whose intentions were easy to predict.

The silence that followed their confrontation lingered in Cassian’s mind.

Not because Adrian had threatened him.

Because he hadn’t.

Not because Adrian had acted.

Because he hadn’t.

As far as Cassian could tell, the Crown Prince had done nothing at all since then.

And somehow that was more unsettling than open hostility.

At least hostility announced itself.

Silence merely waited.

Cassian leaned back slightly.

Thinking.

Then ultimately dismissed the thought.

Because there was little point attempting to predict Adrian.

The future Crown Prince would act when he chose to act.

And until then—

There were flowers.

An infinitely more pleasant subject.

"My Lord."

Cassian looked up.

His secretary’s expression suggested he had suffered greatly.

"Yes?"

"The eastern trade report."

Cassian glanced down.

Then back up.

"Is there a problem?"

The secretary closed his eyes briefly.

Gathering strength.

"That is what I am attempting to determine."

Cassian almost smiled.

Almost.

The secretary pointed at the report.

"My Lord has been reading the same page for ten minutes."

"A thorough review is important."

The secretary stared.

Cassian maintained a perfectly straight face.

The secretary looked unconvinced.

Reasonably.

Then a knock interrupted them.

Both men looked toward the door.

A servant entered.

Bowing.

"My Lord."

Cassian nodded.

The servant approached.

Holding something.

Small.

Folded.

A note.

The secretary immediately lost interest.

Cassian immediately gained it.

An unfortunate exchange.

The servant offered the note.

"From Valmort Manor."

Silence.

Absolute silence.

The secretary slowly looked toward the ceiling.

Apparently seeking divine intervention.

Cassian accepted the note.

Calmly.

Composed.

Entirely unaffected.

The secretary had worked for him too long to be fooled.

The door closed.

The study became quiet.

Cassian looked at the folded paper.

Then immediately recognized the handwriting.

And for one brief moment—

Forgot how to breathe.

The realization was deeply embarrassing.

Fortunately no one would ever hear about it.

He opened the note.

Read it.

Then became very still.

The note was absurdly short.

Thank you for the flowers.

I liked today’s arrangement.

Do not become insufferable about it.

Yours,

Marian

Silence.

Absolute silence.

Cassian stared at the note.

Then read it again.

A perfectly reasonable action.

Then a third time.

Also reasonable.

The fourth might have been excessive.

His secretary certainly thought so.

Cassian ignored him.

The secretary sighed.

The sigh of a man witnessing a tragedy.

Specifically, the tragedy of his employer being in love.

Cassian’s gaze returned to the final line.

Yours, Marian.

The words were simple.

Dangerously simple.

Yet somehow they settled directly in his chest.

Warm.

Certain.

Real.

Not because she had written something romantic.

Not because she had made promises.

Not because she had spoken of the future.

The note meant something far more important.

It meant she had answered.

He had written:

Yours, Cassian.

And Marian had answered.

Not indirectly.

Not accidentally.

Directly.

Yours, Marian.

A quiet response.

A deliberate one.

The kind that mattered.

More than perhaps she realized.

For a long moment he simply sat there.

Looking at the note.

Not smiling.

Not moving.

Just absorbing it.

Because beneath all the uncertainty—

The Duke.

The Emperor.

Adrian.

The future.

There remained one simple truth.

Marian was still choosing him.

The realization settled somewhere deep inside him.

Steady.

Certain.

And somehow that meant more than all the rest.

"My Lord."

Cassian looked up.

"Yes?"

The secretary rubbed his temple.

"The report."

Cassian glanced at the document.

Then at the note.

Then back at the document.

A difficult decision.

The note won.

It was not a close contest.

The secretary appeared personally offended.

A knock interrupted them.

Another servant entered.

"My Lord."

Cassian looked up.

The servant approached.

This time carrying an envelope.

Different.

Formal.

Official.

The mood shifted immediately.

Cassian accepted it.

Broke the seal.

Read.

Silence.

The secretary straightened slightly.

Watching.

Waiting.

Cassian read the contents once.

Then a second time.

Short.

Direct.

Exactly what he would have expected.

Duke Valmort requested a meeting.

Nothing more.

Nothing less.

The secretary studied him carefully.

"My Lord?"

Cassian folded the letter.

Thoughtful.

At last.

Not victory.

Not approval.

Certainly not acceptance.

Simply movement.

For the first time since all of this began—

The board had moved.

The Duke was reaching out.

Not as Marian’s father.

As Duke Valmort.

Which meant something.

A great deal.

Cassian rose.

The secretary blinked.

"My Lord?"

"Prepare the carriage."

Understanding dawned.

Slowly.

Then completely.

The secretary nodded.

Immediately.

Cassian glanced once more at Marian’s note.

A dangerous idea occurred to him.

He placed it inside his inner coat pocket.

The secretary watched.

Horrified.

"My Lord."

Cassian looked up.

"Yes?"

"Are you carrying that with you?"

A reasonable question.

Cassian considered it.

Then:

"Yes."

The secretary stared.

Long.

Silently.

Then looked away.

A defeated man.

Completely defeated.

Unfortunately for him, the matter was no longer open to discussion.

Much like several other things lately.

Outside, preparations began.

The carriage was made ready.

The horses assembled.

The journey prepared.

And somewhere beyond Ashford Manor—

A duke waited.

Cassian adjusted his coat.

Touched the pocket containing Marian’s note once.

Only once.

Then headed for the door.

For the first time in days, he had no idea what awaited him.

The uncertainty should have bothered him.

Instead—

He found himself thinking about two words.

Yours, Marian.

And somehow the road ahead seemed a little less daunting.