The capital city of Luminaris was accustomed to spectacle.

Royal processions were common.

Noble carriages clogged the main thoroughfares daily.

But the arrival of the Duchess of Roselle was different.

It was not a parade. It was a projection of power.

Catarina Roselle rode into the city with an entourage of fifty heavy cavalry.

Their armor was polished to a mirror shine. Their green cloaks snapped in the wind with disciplined uniformity.

At the center of the formation rode the Duchess herself.

She did not wave to the crowds. She sat atop her white stallion with a posture so rigid it looked painful.

She looked every inch the Iron Duchess.

Marcus watched the arrival from the window of his rented townhouse.

He felt a familiar knot of anxiety in his stomach.

"She looks ready to invade," Damien noted, standing beside him. "Or execute someone."

"She's visiting for 'political consultations,'" Marcus said.

"That's political code for 'I have a shovel and I need to bury a body,'" Damien replied.

He looked at Marcus.

"Or perhaps she is here to collect on a debt. Did you promise her anything while you were saving her duchy?"

"No," Marcus said quickly. "I just gave advice."

"You gave her victory," Damien corrected. "Powerful women rarely forget that."

A runner arrived at the door ten minutes later.

The message was brief and sealed with the Roselle crest.

Lord Aldridge. I require a private audience regarding matters of mutual territorial interest. I will arrive at your lodgings in one hour.

It was not a request.

Marcus spent the next hour pacing.

He straightened the cushions on his sofa. He checked the tea service three times.

He tried to convince himself this was just business.

When the hour struck, the heavy thud of armored boots echoed outside his door.

The door opened.

Catarina Roselle swept into the room.

The space instantly felt smaller.

She dismissed her guards with a sharp gesture. They retreated, closing the door with a solid click.

Marcus stood by the fireplace. He bowed slightly.

"Your Grace," he said. "Welcome back to Luminaris."

Catarina did not smile.

She stood in the center of the room.

"Lord Aldridge," she said. Her voice was perfectly level.

She walked to the small table in the center of the seating area.

She carried a leather document case. She set it down with deliberate care.

"Please sit," she said. "We have significant matters to discuss."

Marcus sat. He felt like a student called to the principal's office.

Catarina took the seat opposite him. She did not relax.

She sat with her spine not touching the chair back. Her hands were folded on the table.

She looked perfect. She looked invincible.

Marcus looked closer.

He saw the tightness at the corners of her eyes.

He saw the way her knuckles were white where her hands clasped together.

She was terrified.

"I have drafted a proposal," Catarina said.

She opened the case. She slid a thick document across the table.

It was bound in ribbon. The wax seal was fresh.

"The recent crisis in my duchy exposed certain vulnerabilities," she began. She spoke quickly, as if reciting a rehearsed speech.

"My authority was challenged based on archaic succession laws. Specifically, the lack of a male consort."

Marcus nodded slowly. "We handled that. The narrative shifted."

"We handled it for now," Catarina corrected. "But the threat remains. Victor has retreated, but the conservative faction will try again."

She tapped the document.

"I require a permanent solution. A structural alliance that renders such challenges legally impossible."

She took a breath.

"This is a contract of marriage."

The room went very quiet.

The only sound was the crackle of the fire in the hearth.

Marcus looked at the document. He looked at Catarina.

"Between whom?" he asked gently.

"Between the Houses of Roselle and Aldridge," Catarina said.

She did not look at him. She looked at the paper.

"The strategic benefits are undeniable. Your family controls significant lumber resources in the central valleys. My duchy controls the eastern trade routes and the iron mines."

She began listing points on her fingers.

"One. Economic integration reduces costs for both territories by fifteen percent."

"Two. The union creates a unified political block. The progressive faction gains a supermajority in the Council."

"Three. Military cooperation. My heavy cavalry combined with your family's proximity to the capital creates a formidable defensive line."

She finally looked up. Her eyes were desperate, pleading with him to accept the logic.

"It is the perfect alliance, Marcus. It solves my succession crisis. It elevates your family's status to ducal relations. It secures the kingdom against the coming threats."

She pushed the paper closer to him.

"I have already negotiated the dowry. I have ceded favorable terms regarding inheritance rights for second and third children. It is... a very good offer."

Marcus stared at the contract.

He saw the legal terms. He saw the political brilliance.

He also saw the shield she was holding up.

She was protecting herself with bureaucracy. She was wrapping her heart in red tape so it wouldn't get hurt.

He reached out.

He placed his hand over hers, stopping her from tapping the paper.

Catarina froze. Her breath hitched.

"Stop," Marcus said softly.

"The terms are negotiable," Catarina said quickly. Her voice rose in pitch. "If you require more autonomy over the lumber tariffs, I can—"

"Catarina," Marcus said.

He waited until she met his eyes.

"You've listed the economic benefits. You've listed the political advantages. You've listed the military strategy."

He squeezed her hand gently.

"But you haven't said a single word about what you actually want."

Catarina pulled her hand back.

She looked at him with wide, startled eyes.

"What I want is irrelevant," she said. "I am a Duchess. My duty is to the stability of my territory."

"You defeated a coup last week," Marcus said. "Your territory is stable."

"Stability is fleeting," she countered. "Alliance is permanent."

"Is it?" Marcus asked.

He leaned back in his chair. He looked at her, really looked at her.

"You told me once that you were tired of playing a role," he said. "You told me you were tired of being the Perfect Duchess."

Catarina looked away. "That was a moment of weakness."

"That was a moment of honesty," Marcus said.

He pointed to the contract.

"This? This is a business transaction. You are trying to hire a husband the way you hire a general."

"It is how nobility survives!" Catarina snapped.

She stood up. She paced to the fireplace. The gold chains of her office clinked softly.

"Do you think I have the luxury of romance, Marcus? Do you think I can afford to choose based on... on feelings?"

She turned back to him. Her eyes were flashing with anger and unshed tears.

"I am the only woman on the High Council. Every day is a battle to be taken seriously. If I marry, it must be a fortress. It must be unassailable."

"So you want to live in a fortress for the rest of your life?" Marcus asked.

"I want to be safe," she whispered.

"And I want you to be happy," Marcus said.

He stood up. He walked over to her.

He did not touch her. He stood close enough to smell her perfume.

It smelled of roses and old paper.

"This contract," Marcus said, gesturing to the table. "It locks you in a cage. A very expensive, very powerful cage. But it's still a cage where duty dictates everything."

"It is a cage I chose," Catarina said stubbornly.

"But is it the one you want?"

Marcus looked into her eyes. He used the voice he used for his toughest clients. The voice that cut through the noise.

"Take off the Duchess mask for ten seconds, Catarina. What do you want?"

Catarina trembled.

The armor was failing. The logic was crumbling.

"I want..." she started. Her voice broke.

She looked at Marcus. She looked at the man who had helped her defeat her enemies without stealing her glory.

The man who knew she read trashy romance novels and didn't laugh.

The man who saw her.

"I don't want to be alone anymore," she whispered.

"Then don't be," Marcus said.

"But I can't just..." She gestured helplessly. "I can't just ask."

"Why not?"

"Because it's terrifying," she admitted. "Politics I understand. Contracts I understand. This? This has no rules."

"That's the point," Marcus said.

He walked back to the table.

He picked up the thick, ribbon-bound document.

He weighed it in his hand.

Then he held it out to her.

"I'm refusing the proposal, Catarina."

Catarina took the document. Her hands were numb.

She felt a cold void open in her chest.

She had offered him everything. Power. Wealth. Alliance.

And he had said no.

"I see," she said. Her voice was hollow. "I apologize for the intrusion. I miscalculated the—"

"You didn't miscalculate," Marcus interrupted. "You just brought the wrong paperwork."

Catarina blinked. "I don't understand."

"You deserve to marry for love," Marcus said firmly.

"You've spent your entire life being practical. You've spent your entire life doing what is best for the duchy. You have earned the right to be selfish."

He smiled. It was a sad, gentle smile.

"If there is going to be something between us, Catarina, it shouldn't start with terms and conditions. It shouldn't start with a merger acquisition."

Catarina looked down at the contract in her hands.

She saw the clauses she had agonizingly drafted late at night. The protections. The careful wording.

She realized what they were.

They were an apology.

She was apologizing for asking him to be with her by making it profitable.

She was trying to buy his affection because she didn't believe she could earn it.

She looked up at him.

He wasn't rejecting her.

He was rejecting the transaction.

He was telling her that she, Catarina Roselle, was enough.

Without the land. Without the army. Without the title.

A strange sensation bloomed in her chest.

It felt like a corset being unlaced after a long day.

It felt like breathing.

"You are a very frustrating man," she said.

Her voice was shaky, but the hollow feeling was gone.

"I try my best," Marcus said.

"I offer you one of the most powerful alliances in the kingdom, and you lecture me about feelings."

"Someone has to," Marcus said. "Everyone else is too busy agreeing with you."

Catarina looked at the contract one last time.

Then, with a sudden, decisive movement, she tossed it into the fireplace.

The heavy parchment caught fire instantly. The wax seal melted into a red puddle.

Marcus's eyes widened. "That looked expensive."

"It was," Catarina said.

She watched the paper burn. She watched the terms and conditions turn to ash.

Then she turned back to Marcus.

She stood taller. The nervous tension was gone.

In its place was the cool, sharp focus of a general who has just surveyed the battlefield and found a new angle of attack.

She smoothed her velvet skirts. She adjusted her gold chain.

A smile played on her lips. It wasn't the polite smile of a diplomat.

It was the smile of a woman who just realized she didn't have to follow the rules anymore.

"Very well," she said. "You have rejected the political solution."

"I have," Marcus agreed cautiously.

"You claim I deserve to be selfish," she continued. She took a step toward him. "You claim I should pursue what I want, not what is practical."

"I did say that," Marcus said. He took a half-step back.

"Then consider this a formal declaration of war," Catarina said.

Marcus blinked. "I'm sorry?"

"If you will not let me acquire you through contract," she said, "I will acquire you through conquest."

She walked right up to him.

She reached out and adjusted his lapel. Her fingers lingered on the fabric.

"I am going to court you, Marcus Aldridge," she said.

"I am going to court you with the same focus and resources I use to run my duchy. I am going to initiate an official campaign for your affections."

Marcus swallowed hard. "An official campaign?"

"I am very good at logistics," Catarina purred. "I will organize dates. I will strategize romantic gestures. I will deploy charm offensives."

She leaned in close. Her voice dropped to a whisper that sent shivers down his spine.

"You wanted me to act on my desires? Fine. I desire you."

She patted his chest once, firmly.

"Prepare yourself, Marcus. The Duchess does not lose battles."

Catarina turned and walked to the door.

She opened it herself.

Her guards snapped to attention in the hallway.

"We are leaving," she announced. Her voice rang with authority.

"Did the negotiations go well, Your Grace?" her captain asked.

"Excellent," Catarina said. "The initial treaty was rejected. We are moving to a hostile takeover."

She looked back at Marcus one last time.

She looked radiant. She looked dangerous. She looked incredibly happy.

"I will see you on Tuesday," she said. "I have scheduled a walk in the Royal Gardens. Do not be late."

Then she swept out of the room, her green cloak billowing behind her like a banner.

The door closed.

Marcus stood alone in his sitting room.

The fire crackled, consuming the last of the marriage contract.

He stared at the door.

His heart was hammering against his ribs like a trapped bird.

He sank onto the sofa and put his head in his hands.

"Oh no," he whispered.

Damien walked in from the adjoining room. He was eating an apple.

He looked at Marcus. He looked at the fire and then the empty space where the Duchess had been.

"So," Damien said, taking a crunch of his apple. "You refused the political marriage."

"I told her she deserved love," Marcus groaned.

"And?"

"And she took it as a challenge."

Damien laughed. It was a loud, delighted sound.

"You told the most competent strategist in the kingdom to stop being practical and start being passionate?"

"Yes."

"And now she's going to focus all that terrifying competence on dating you?"

"Yes."

Damien patted Marcus on the shoulder.

"Rest in peace, my friend," he said cheerfully. "You survived the coup. But you are definitely not surviving the courtship."

Marcus looked at the fire.

He thought about the look in Catarina's eyes. The fire. The determination.

She hadn't looked at him like a partner or a friend.

She had looked at him like a goal.

And for the first time in his life, Marcus realized that being the target of a powerful woman's ambition was both the most terrifying and the most exhilarating thing in the world.

"I'm in trouble," Marcus said.

"Big trouble," Damien agreed. "Tuesday is only three days away. You better start training."

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