The plan was working perfectly. That should have been the first warning sign.

Viscount Harlow's salon was a sea of velvet, silk, and polite hypocrisy.

Nobles stood in tight clusters, sipping wine and exchanging barbed compliments.

Marcus and Damien moved through the room like a two-headed hydra of masculine friendship. They stayed within arm's reach of each other at all times.

"Excellent point about the Second Era cavalry tactics," Marcus said loudly.

He nodded with exaggerated enthusiasm. "Truly, your insight into military history is fascinating, Lord Blackthorn."

"Please, call me Damien," Damien replied, his voice projecting to the back of the room.

"And I must say, your analysis of supply lines is revolutionary. It reminds me of your brother's strategic potential."

They clinked their glasses. It was a performance worthy of the Royal Theater.

Marcus scanned the room. No heroines in sight. The "Interceptor" strategy was holding.

Whenever a minor noble lady approached, Damien smoothly stepped in.

He would steer the conversation toward the price of grain or the structural integrity of castle walls.

The ladies quickly lost interest and drifted away.

"Phase One is a success," Marcus whispered behind his wine glass. "We are untouchable."

"Don't jinx it," Damien muttered back, keeping a smile plastered on his face. "But yes. We are radiating 'busy discussion' energy. No one dares interrupt."

They retreated to a relatively quiet corner near the buffet.

Marcus finally relaxed his shoulders. The tension in his chest began to uncoil.

"Maybe we overthought this," Marcus said, grabbing a canapé. "Maybe they aren't even coming. It is a minor salon, after all."

The universe heard him. And apparently, it had a cruel sense of humor.

The double doors at the entrance swung open. The herald cleared his throat.

"Presenting Her Grace, Duchess Catarina Roselle!"

Marcus froze, the canapé halfway to his mouth.

Catarina swept into the room.

She wore a dress of deep emerald green that looked more expensive than the building they were standing in.

Before the herald could finish, the doors opened again.

"Presenting Professor Seraphina Ashwood!"

Seraphina entered with military precision.

She wore her formal academy robes, modified for evening wear. Her gaze swept the room like a searchlight.

"Presenting Countess Vivienne Blackthorn!"

Damien choked on his drink. His mother strode in, looking like a lioness among house cats.

Her red hair was loose and wild. She wore a daring gown that showed off her adventurer's scars.

"And... Lady Iris Silvermoon!"

The elf drifted in last.

She looked confused but ethereally beautiful, and was inspecting a potted plant near the door.

Marcus looked at Damien. Damien looked at Marcus.

"You jinxed it," Damien hissed.

"They didn't coordinate this," Marcus whispered frantically. "They aren't even friends. This is statistically impossible."

"It's not statistics," Damien groaned. "It's narrative gravity. They are drawn to the anomaly. That's you."

The four women paused. They looked around the room.

Their eyes locked onto the corner by the buffet.

Four distinct pairs of eyes focused on Marcus. Then, they noticed Damien standing guard.

The air in the room seemed to drop ten degrees.

The salon transformed from a social gathering into a battlefield.

Marcus felt like a gazelle being tracked by four different predators.

Damien stood beside him, rigid as a statue.

Seraphina moved first. She didn't approach immediately. She found a vantage point by a marble pillar.

She crossed her arms. Her ice-blue eyes narrowed as she studied Damien.

She watched how close he stood to Marcus. She analyzed their body language.

Marcus could practically hear her thoughts.

Variable identified. Obstacle assessed. Calculating removal strategy.

"Professor Ashwood is staring at me," Damien whispered. "It feels like she's mentally dissecting my liver."

"She's analyzing the threat," Marcus murmured. "Keep smiling."

Catarina took a different approach. She began circling the room, greeting key nobles.

But every handshake brought her five feet closer to their corner. She was closing the net.

She glanced at the pair, noted the alliance, and smiled.

It was a sharp, political smile.

Then there was Vivienne.

The Countess spotted her son standing next to her romantic interest.

She threw her head back and laughed. It was a rich, throaty sound that silenced half the room.

She grabbed a glass of wine and made a beeline for them.

"This is a disaster," Marcus said. "Here comes the Viper."

"Hold the line," Damien said. "I'll intercept."

But before Vivienne arrived, Marcus felt a gentle tug on his sleeve.

He jumped. He hadn't seen anyone approach. He hadn't heard a sound.

Iris was standing right behind his left elbow. She had bypassed Damien's guard completely.

"Greetings," Iris said softly.

She stared at Damien with intense curiosity. "Is this a mating ritual? Why is the male guarding the other male?"

Damien whipped around. "Where did you come from?"

"The door," Iris replied simply. She took out a small notebook. "I am observing human bonding. You are very close. Are you sharing resources?"

Marcus stepped back, trying to create distance. "Lady Iris! No, we are just... discussing history. Military history."

"Fascinating," Iris scribbled in her book. "History strengthens the bond."

"Phase One is failing," Damien noted, his voice tight. "The stealth unit breached the perimeter."

"Damien!" Vivienne's voice boomed.

She arrived in a swirl of perfume and charisma.

She looked at her son, then at Marcus. Her eyes danced with amusement.

"Mother," Damien said stiffly.

He tried to step between her and Marcus. "We were just talking about Theo. Did you know he's mastering a new sword form?"

Vivienne ignored the bait. She reached past Damien and patted Marcus on the arm.

"Cute," she said, winking at Marcus. "You've made a friend. I was worried you were too lonely."

"We are very good friends," Damien insisted, holding his ground. "In fact, I plan to spend most of my time with Marcus. We are inseparable."

Vivienne grinned.

She found the situation hilarious.

"Good," Vivienne purred. "Then I'll know exactly where to find him."

Damien paled.

From the other side, the crowd parted. Catarina had arrived.

"Lord Aldridge," Catarina said smoothly. "And Lord Blackthorn. An interesting alliance. The eastern border and the central plains."

"Duchess," Marcus bowed. "We were just discussing—"

"I'm sure it was riveting," she cut in. Her green eyes locked onto Marcus. "But I find myself in need of a more... nuanced perspective."

"My brother Theo has excellent perspectives," Marcus tried. "He holds very strong opinions on border security."

Catarina stepped closer. She invaded his personal space with regal confidence. "I am not interested in your brother's opinions, Marcus. I am interested in yours."

She said his name like it was a secret.

Seraphina stepped out from behind the pillar. She had finished her calculations.

She approached the group with long, purposeful strides.

The circle was complete. Marcus was trapped against the buffet table.

Damien stood in front of him, but the dam was breaking.

The dynamic in the corner shifted. It became a high-stakes competition.

The women weren't looking at Marcus. They weren't even looking at each other.

They were looking at Damien as a hurdle to be vaulted.

"Lord Blackthorn," Seraphina said coldly.

"I require Lord Aldridge's assistance with an academic matter. It concerns the Academy curriculum."

"I can help," Damien offered quickly. "I am a student. I know the curriculum well."

"This is a faculty matter," Seraphina countered. She looked at Marcus. "Privately."

"Actually," Catarina interjected, her voice like silk wrapped around steel.

"I was just about to invite Marcus to a dinner. A small affair. Very private. We have much to discuss regarding the... 'stability' of the region."

She emphasized the word stability.

"Dinner sounds lovely," Vivienne laughed.

She leaned against the table, casually brushing her shoulder against Marcus's arm. "But Marcus promised to help me with a dungeon map. Didn't you, darling?"

She touched his arm again. Her fingers lingered on his bicep.

Damien stared at his mother's hand on his best friend's arm.

He looked like he wanted to scream.

"I did not promise that," Marcus squeaked.

"You have the eyes for it," Vivienne teased. "You see things others miss."

"I also see things," Iris piped up.

She stepped closer to Marcus, crowding him from the other side.

"I wish to engage in a cultural exchange. Marcus explains human emotions. I explain elven magic. It is an equitable trade."

She looked at the other women. "My lifespan is long. I can wait. But I prefer not to."

Marcus was sweating.

The "scarcity" created by Damien's presence wasn't making them lose interest. It was making them fight harder.

"Ladies," Marcus said, raising his hands in surrender. "I am incredibly busy. My schedule is full. Theo, however, is very free."

"Theodore is a child," Seraphina dismissed. "I need an adult perspective."

"Theodore is a warrior," Catarina added. "I need a strategist."

"Theodore is sweet," Vivienne smirked. "But I need a man who knows how to handle a woman."

Damien made a choking sound.

"Theodore is simple," Iris observed. "You are complex. I study complexity."

They stepped closer. The circle tightened.

Damien was being physically squeezed out of the protective formation.

"Damien," Marcus whispered. "Do something."

Damien looked at the four most powerful women in the kingdom.

He looked at his terrifyingly flirtatious mother. He looked at the Ice Queen.

"I think I hear the Viscount calling me," Damien said loudly.

"What?" Marcus hissed. "Coward!"

"Strategic retreat!" Damien whispered back. "I'll create a diversion!"

Damien grabbed a tray of pastries from a passing waiter. He "accidentally" tripped.

The tray went flying. Cream puffs rained down on a group of conservative nobles nearby.

Chaos erupted. Shouts of indignation filled the air.

"Oh no!" Damien shouted, with terrible acting.

"My clumsiness! Marcus, we must flee before we are blamed!"

He grabbed Marcus by the collar and dragged him through the confusion.

They bolted for the exit.

They left four confused, irritated, and very determined women in their wake.

✧✧✧

The door to a random room slammed shut. The lock clicked.

Marcus slid down the door until he hit the floor. He buried his face in his hands.

Damien paced the room. He looked shell-shocked. He kept running his hands through his hair.

"That," Damien said, "was a catastrophe."

"It was worse than a catastrophe," Marcus mumbled through his fingers. "It was a targeted strike on my sanity."

Damien stopped pacing.

He slumped into an armchair. He stared at the ceiling.

"My mother flirted with you," Damien said hollowly. "In front of me. She touched your bicep. She used the word 'handle.'"

"I tried to pivot to Theo," Marcus said.

He sounded close to tears. "I tried so hard. They didn't care. They barely acknowledged his existence."

Damien let out a long, ragged sigh. "We made a fundamental error in our calculations."

"Which one?" Marcus asked. "Thinking we were smart? Thinking we could control the narrative?"

"Scarcity," Damien said. He sat up. "Basic economics. Basic marketing. When a product becomes difficult to access, its perceived value increases."

Marcus groaned. He realized Damien was right.

"By blocking them," Damien continued, "I made you exclusive. I made you a prize. They saw me guarding you, and they thought, 'He must be special if he requires a gatekeeper.'"

"We gamified it," Marcus realized. "We turned me into a limited-edition collectible."

"And the competition," Damien added.

"Once they saw the others interested, their competitive instincts kicked in.

Seraphina didn't want to lose to Catarina.

My mother didn't want to lose to anyone."

"We didn't consider their agency," Marcus said quietly. "They aren't NPCs. They aren't plot points. They're intelligent, powerful women who know what they want."

"And unfortunately," Damien said, "they want you."

"We made it worse," Marcus said.

"We made it so much worse," Damien agreed. "They're going to coordinate. Or escalate. Probably both."

"So," Marcus said. "Phase One is a bust. Phase Two?"

"Phase Two relies on you arranging scenarios," Damien said. "But now, they're going to be suspicious of anything you set up. They'll think you're playing hard to get."

"I hate this," Marcus said. "I hate being popular."

"Welcome to the harem genre," Damien said grimly. "Now you know why the protagonists always look so tired."

They sat in silence.

The confident toast from the previous evening felt like a memory from a different lifetime.

"New rule," Marcus said finally.

"What?"

"If your mother flirts with me again," Marcus said, "you are allowed to punch me. Just to break the tension."

"Deal," Damien said. "But you have to explain 'mating rituals' to the elf."

"I hate you," Marcus said affectionately.

"I know," Damien replied. "What are we going to do?"

"I don't know," Marcus admitted. "But we better figure it out before the diplomatic dinner. Or the dungeon dive. Or the cultural exchange."

"We are two idiots," Marcus concluded.

"God help us." (X2)

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