Marcus Aldridge looked like he had ridden through a hurricane.

His coat was stained with three different colors of mud.

His hair was a disaster.

He walked with the stiffness of a man unaccustomed to spending twelve hours in a saddle.

But when he entered Catarina's private study, his eyes were clear.

Catarina stood up from her desk. She had not slept properly in four days.

Seeing him there, looking disheveled and determined, she felt a tightness in her chest loosen.

"You came," she said softly.

"You asked," Marcus replied. He didn't bow. He winced as he walked toward a chair. "May I? My legs have forgotten how to be legs."

"Please," Catarina said.

She poured him a glass of water from a crystal pitcher. Her hand shook slightly.

Marcus took the glass. He drank it in one long swallow.

He set the glass down. The life coach mode activated instantly.

"Status report," he said. "Give me the ugly version."

Catarina sat back down. She laced her fingers together to stop them from trembling.

"It is worse than I wrote," she admitted. "Victor has secured the support of the Merchant Guild's conservative branch. They are threatening to freeze credit lines."

"Standard pressure tactic," Marcus noted.

"The legal hearing is in four days," Catarina continued.

"My lawyers say we have a thirty percent chance of victory. The 'Times of Threat' clause gives the magistrate too much room for interpretation."

She looked at the map on her desk.

"And my loyal commanders are stuck in the mud near the eastern border. A bridge 'mysteriously' collapsed."

"So you are isolated, financially squeezed, and legally cornered," Marcus summarized.

"Yes."

"And Victor is presenting himself as the strong, martial alternative who can save the duchy from a woman's fragility."

Catarina grimaced. "That is the gist of his speeches. He gave one in the square this morning."

Marcus leaned forward. "How was the crowd?"

Catarina blinked. "The crowd?"

"The people," Marcus said. "The commoners. The shopkeepers. The people who actually live here. Did they cheer?"

Catarina paused. She thought back to the reports.

"They were quiet," she said. "Confused, mostly. Victor promised stability."

"But they didn't cheer," Marcus pressed. "And Victor? What is his reputation?"

"He is a second cousin," Catarina said dismissively. "He attends parties. He hunts. He spends money."

"Whose money?" Marcus asked.

"His family's. Until it runs out."

Marcus smiled. It wasn't a nice smile. It was the smile of a man who had found the loose thread in a sweater.

"Perfect," Marcus said.

Catarina frowned. "I fail to see how my cousin being a spendthrift helps me when he is about to steal my title."

"You are fighting the wrong battle, Catarina," Marcus said.

He stood up. He ignored his aching legs.

"You are fighting a legal battle," he said. "You are trying to prove you meet the criteria of an archaic law written by dead men."

He walked to the window. He looked down at the city.

"You can't win that battle. The law was designed to exclude you."

"Then what do I do?" Catarina asked. Her voice rose. "Surrender?"

"No," Marcus said. He turned back to her. "We change the battlefield."

He tapped his temple.

"They are telling a story," Marcus said. "The story is 'Women cannot lead in war.' Every legal argument they make reinforces that story."

He walked back to the desk. He placed his hands on the mahogany surface.

"We need to tell a better story."

Catarina looked at him. She saw the strategist beneath the disheveled traveler.

"And what is our story?" she asked.

"The story," Marcus said, "is 'Competent CEO versus Incompetent Nepo-Baby.'"

Catarina stared. "I don't... understand those terms and what they mean."

"Sorry," Marcus said. "The story is 'Effective Ruler versus Corrupt Opportunist.'"

He reached into his coat pocket. He pulled out a thick sheaf of papers.

"Damien has been busy," Marcus said. "He has an interesting network of informants."

He slid the papers across the desk.

Catarina picked them up. Her eyes widened as she scanned the top page.

"These represent Victor's gambling debts," Marcus said. "He owes significant sums to casinos in the Free Cities."

He pointed to the second page.

"And these are letters from Duke Thornbeck to Victor. They outline a plan to increase taxes on Roselle grain once Victor takes power."

Catarina looked up. Her eyes were hard. "This is treason."

"It's politics," Marcus corrected. "But to the people, it's theft."

He sat back down. He crossed his legs.

"Victor isn't challenging you because he's a patriot concerned about the Demon Lord," Marcus said.

"He's challenging you because he's broke and needs the duchy's treasury to pay his bookies."

Catarina let out a breath she didn't know she was holding.

"He is trying to rob the bank," she whispered.

"Exactly," Marcus said. "And you aren't a woman trying to defend her right to rule. You are the bank manager stopping a robbery."

He gestured to the papers.

"We don't need to win the legal argument, Catarina. We need to win the audience. If the public turns on him, the magistrate won't dare rule in his favor. Judges hate backing losers."

Catarina looked at the papers. She looked at Marcus.

For the first time in a week, she didn't feel like a victim. She felt like a predator.

"Where do we start?" she asked.

"The strategy is simple," Marcus explained.

They had moved to the small round table near the fireplace. It was covered in notes.

"We need to control the narrative," Marcus said. "Phase one is visibility. You need to look busy. Boringly, effectively busy."

"I am always busy," Catarina said dryly.

"But people need to see it," Marcus countered. "No more hiding in your study. You need to be out there. Signing deals. Inspecting walls. Being the Duchess."

"While Victor makes speeches?"

"Let him talk," Marcus said. "He's talking about abstract laws. You're going to talk about grain prices and road repairs. Competence is quiet. Insecurity is loud."

"Phase two," Marcus continued. He tapped the stack of Damien's research. "The leak."

"I should present this to the Council," Catarina said.

"No," Marcus said firmly. "If you present it, it looks like a desperate defense. It looks like mudslinging."

He leaned in.

"This information needs to come from the street. It needs to be a rumor that everyone knows is true."

"Gossip?" Catarina asked. She looked skeptical. "You want to save my duchy with gossip?"

"I want to destroy Victor's credibility," Marcus said. "Nothing destroys a man faster than the truth whispered in the right ears."

He pointed to a name on his list.

"Who is the biggest gossip in the servant's quarters?"

Catarina thought for a moment. "Martha. The head laundress. She knows everything before I do."

"Perfect," Marcus said. "And in the merchant quarter?"

"Mr. Vane. He runs the tavern near the guild hall."

"Excellent," Marcus said.

"Tonight, some of your loyal staff will have very interesting conversations near Martha and this Mr. Vane.

They will mention Victor's debts. They will mention the tax hike."

Catarina smiled slowly. It was a dangerous smile.

"And Thornbeck?" she asked.

"Thornbeck hates embarrassment," Marcus said. "When Victor starts to look like a liability, Thornbeck will vanish. He won't back a bad investment."

"And what is your role in this?" Catarina asked.

She looked at him intently.

"You are the architect of this defense. Do I introduce you as my advisor?"

"Absolutely not," Marcus said.

He stood up. He smoothed his rumpled coat.

"If I stand next to you, Victor will say you are being led by a man. He will say you need a foreign noble to hold your hand."

He shook his head.

"This victory must be yours, Catarina. Entirely yours. I am just... a concerned friend visiting for the library."

Catarina looked at him.

She saw the fatigue in his face. She saw the absolute lack of ego.

He was handing her the weapon and telling her to take the credit for the kill.

"You would hide in the shadows?" she asked.

"The shadows are where the work gets done," Marcus said. "Besides, I have a reputation to maintain. I'm supposed to be a lazy scoundrel."

Catarina laughed. It was a genuine, startled sound.

"You are terrible at being a scoundrel, Marcus."

"I'm working on it," he said.

He gathered the papers.

"Get some sleep, Duchess. Tomorrow, you have a bank robbery to stop."

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