Chapter 97: Waiting

Chapter 97: Chapter 97: Waiting

Waiting, Marian discovered, was terrible.

Absolutely terrible.

Possibly one of humanity’s worst inventions.

Unfortunately, there was no one available to complain to about it.

The culprit, as always, was her father.

More specifically—

Her father and Duke Ashford.

The moment she learned that an invitation had been sent to Ashford Manor, she had known peace was no longer an option.

Not for her.

Certainly not for her maid.

The maid, who had suffered greatly over the last several days, was currently arranging flowers near the window.

Or attempting to.

Every few moments, Marian would glance outside.

The maid would notice.

Then sigh.

Then continue arranging flowers.

It was a routine they had repeated several times already.

"My Lady."

Marian immediately looked away from the window.

Far too quickly.

The maid stared.

Marian stared back.

Silence.

"My Lady."

"Yes?"

"You have checked the front gate six times."

"I have not."

The maid’s expression remained unchanged.

Marian frowned.

"Perhaps five."

The maid sighed.

The sigh of a woman carrying burdens she did not deserve.

Marian looked back toward the window.

Entirely by accident.

Of course.

The maid watched this happen.

Unimpressed.

"My Lady is nervous."

"I am not nervous."

The denial came too quickly.

The maid’s expression somehow became even more unimpressed.

"I am merely..."

Marian paused.

Searching for a better explanation.

The problem was that there wasn’t one.

The maid waited.

Patiently.

"...concerned."

"A different word."

"A completely different word."

Marian ignored her.

With dignity.

Unfortunately, dignity became increasingly difficult to maintain when she found herself glancing toward the front gate again.

The maid noticed.

Naturally.

"My Lady."

Marian groaned.

"What now?"

"If Duke Ashford’s carriage appears because you stare hard enough, I will personally apologize."

Marian looked horrified.

"I am not staring."

The maid looked toward the window.

Then back toward Marian.

Then toward the window again.

A devastatingly effective argument.

Marian refused to acknowledge it.

Instead she buried her face in a cushion.

The maid immediately became suspicious.

A reasonable reaction.

Because Marian had been suspiciously quiet for nearly ten minutes.

"My Lady."

Marian groaned.

Again.

The maid waited.

Patiently.

The patience of a woman who already knew the answer.

"The note."

Silence.

Then:

"Oh."

The maid’s expression became victorious.

A terrible development.

Marian immediately regretted speaking.

Too late.

Entirely too late.

"The note," the maid repeated.

Marian buried her face deeper into the cushion.

Because yes.

The note.

The disastrous note.

More specifically—

The ending.

Thank you for the flowers.

I liked today’s arrangement.

Do not become insufferable about it.

Yours,

Marian

Marian closed her eyes.

The memory was painful.

Deeply painful.

Not because she regretted sending it.

That was the problem.

She didn’t.

The maid’s eyebrow rose.

Slowly.

Dangerously.

"You could have rewritten it."

A fair observation.

An irritating one.

"But I didn’t want to."

The answer escaped before she could stop it.

Silence.

The maid stared.

Marian stared at the cushion.

The cushion offered no assistance whatsoever.

"I see."

The maid sounded entirely too pleased.

Marian decided not to look at her.

Because the truth was embarrassingly simple.

She had considered rewriting it.

Twice.

Possibly three times.

Then decided not to.

Because Cassian had written:

Yours,

Cassian.

And for reasons she could not adequately explain—

She had wanted to answer.

The realization immediately warmed her cheeks.

The maid noticed.

Of course she did.

A terrifying woman.

One who saw entirely too much.

Thankfully, the subject changed.

Unfortunately, it changed to something even more stressful.

Her father.

And Cassian.

The moment the invitation had been sent, Marian had known what came next.

Questions.

Difficult ones.

The same questions her father had asked her.

Questions about Adrian.

Questions about the Crown.

Questions about succession.

Questions about sacrifice.

Questions about consequences.

Questions that refused to leave her alone.

Marian stood and walked toward the window once more.

The gates remained empty.

An unfortunate development.

The maid watched.

Unsurprised.

"What do you think Father will ask him?"

The question escaped before Marian could stop it.

The maid considered.

Then:

"Everything."

Marian groaned.

An extremely unhelpful answer.

Unfortunately.

Probably accurate.

She could practically hear the questions already.

Would you still choose her if she lost everything?

Would you still choose her if the Emperor refused?

Would you still choose her if marrying her cost you politically?

Would you still choose her if Adrian never accepted it?

Marian sighed.

Because the worst part was that she already knew her father.

And she knew Cassian.

Which meant she knew exactly how this conversation might go.

Her father would ask impossible questions.

Cassian would answer them.

Directly.

Without hesitation.

Without any concern for his own safety.

A deeply admirable quality.

A deeply stressful one.

The maid watched her expression change.

Then sighed.

Again.

"My Lady."

"What?"

"You trust him."

Marian blinked.

Then smiled.

Softly.

Without hesitation.

"Yes."

The answer came immediately.

The maid nodded.

As though she had expected nothing else.

Because perhaps she had.

The room fell quiet.

Marian’s gaze drifted once more toward the drive.

And suddenly she realized something.

She wanted him to see her.

Not because she intended to interfere.

Not because she wished to speak with him.

That would be improper.

Especially today.

No.

She simply wanted him to know she was here.

Waiting.

If her father was going to question him because of her—

Then she wanted him to see her before he went in.

The thought settled quietly inside her.

And somehow made everything make sense.

Then—

A carriage appeared at the distant gates.

Silence.

Absolute silence.

Marian froze.

The maid followed her gaze.

Then immediately understood.

The carriage rolled through the gates.

Slowly.

Steadily.

Unmistakably.

The Ashford crest gleamed beneath the afternoon sunlight.

For one brief moment, Marian forgot to breathe.

He was here.

The carriage continued forward.

Across the drive.

Toward the manor.

Toward her father.

Toward whatever came next.

Marian found herself gripping the windowsill.

Hard.

The maid noticed.

Naturally.

Neither commented.

The carriage slowed.

Then stopped.

A servant stepped forward.

The door opened.

And Cassian emerged.

The distance between them was considerable.

Too great for words.

Too great for conversation.

Yet somehow Marian knew the exact moment he saw her.

A ridiculous certainty.

An impossible one.

And yet—

His gaze lifted.

Toward the manor.

Toward the windows.

Toward her.

The moment lasted only seconds.

No words.

No gestures.

Nothing improper.

Nothing anyone could object to.

Simply recognition.

Simply certainty.

Simply two people finding one another.

Across a distance.

Across expectations.

Across everything standing between them.

Something softened in Cassian’s expression.

Small.

Almost imperceptible.

Yet Marian saw it.

And suddenly the knot in her chest loosened.

Just a little.

The maid saw that too.

Naturally.

"My Lady."

Marian ignored her.

Cassian inclined his head.

The smallest acknowledgment.

The smallest greeting.

Yet somehow it felt more meaningful than entire conversations.

Because Marian understood what came next.

Her father was waiting.

Questions would be asked.

Difficult ones.

Perhaps impossible ones.

Questions she herself had already answered.

Now it was Cassian’s turn.

For one brief moment she wished she could go to him.

Walk downstairs.

Cross the distance.

Say something.

Anything.

Even something as simple as:

I’m here.

But she couldn’t.

Too many eyes.

Too many servants.

Too many people watching.

And perhaps that was why this brief exchange mattered so much.

Because neither of them needed words.

Cassian had looked up.

And found her there.

Waiting.

The realization made her smile softly.

Without thinking.

Below, Cassian’s gaze lingered for a heartbeat longer.

Then he turned.

And walked toward the manor.

Toward Duke Valmort.

Toward whatever came next.

This time, however—

Marian thought he looked a little less alone.

She remained by the window long after he disappeared from sight.

Watching doors that would not open again for quite some time.

Waiting for a conversation she could not hear.

And hating every moment of it.