Cassian Vere had long ago accepted that duty was a cage lined with velvet.
He signed the fourth requisition form without reading it—something about new armor for the eastern garrison—and reached for the fifth. Outside his study window, the Vere estate sprawled in geometric perfection: manicured hedges, marble fountains, rose gardens arranged in patterns that pleased the eye but lacked any wild beauty. Everything controlled. Everything in its place.
Much like his life.
"Your Grace." Daniel Hwang entered without knocking, as he'd done for the past fifteen years. Knight Commander, closest friend, and the only person permitted to interrupt Cassian's morning correspondence. "The afternoon patrol reports are ready for your review."
"Leave them on the side table." Cassian didn't look up from the grain shipment manifests. Boring, but necessary. Everything was necessary. That was the problem with being a duke at twenty-six—every hour was spoken for, every decision weighted with consequences, every breath measured against political ramifications.
"Also," Daniel continued, settling into the chair across from Cassian's desk without invitation, "your mother wishes to remind you about the Imperial Summer Gala. She's concerned you haven't yet reviewed the seating arrangements."
Cassian's jaw tightened infinitesimally. "The Gala is three weeks away."
"Yes, but you're expected to dance with Lady Adeline Kael. Your mother wants to ensure the two of you are seated near enough to make the connection obvious, but not so close as to appear presumptuous before the engagement is officially announced."
Lady Adeline Kael. His future wife, apparently. Cassian set down his pen with careful precision. "I'm aware of the arrangement."
"Are you?" Daniel leaned back, arms crossed. "Because you've yet to visit her, write to her, or show any indication you remember her name."
"I remember her name."
"Do you remember her face?"
Cassian did, actually. Vaguely. Soft features, dark hair, amber eyes that had watched him with disconcerting intensity the three times they'd been introduced. She'd smiled too much. Laughed at things that weren't particularly funny. Seemed to hang on his every word during their brief, painful conversations about weather and court politics.
It had made him deeply uncomfortable.
"I remember enough," he said coolly.
Daniel made a sound that might have been a laugh or a sigh. "You're going to marry a woman you 'remember enough' about. Brilliant strategy, Your Grace."
"It's not about strategy. It's about duty." Cassian picked up his pen again, scanning the next document. "The Kael alliance strengthens our northern border relations. Her family is respectable, her bloodline acceptable, and she's young enough to bear heirs. What else is required?"
"Love? Affection? Basic human interest in your future wife's personality?"
Cassian looked up then, meeting Daniel's dark eyes. His friend's expression was carefully neutral, but Cassian knew him too well to miss the judgment underneath.
"Love is a luxury," Cassian said flatly. "One that men in our positions cannot afford. You know that as well as I do."
"I know you believe that." Daniel stood, walking to the window. "I also know you've believed it since you were twelve years old and your father explained exactly what being Duke Vere would mean. Duty first, duty always, personal feelings are weaknesses to be controlled."
"They are." Cassian returned his attention to the manifests. "This conversation is pointless, Daniel."
"When was the last time you felt anything that wasn't controlled?"
The question hung in the air like a challenge. Cassian didn't answer because there was no answer. Control was what separated him from his father's worst excesses, from the violent tempers and political mistakes that had plagued the Vere duchy before Cassian inherited at nineteen. Control was what made him effective.
Control was survival.
"Exactly," Daniel said quietly. "The curse has you so locked down you can't even—"
"Enough." Cassian's voice dropped to the dangerous register that made lesser men step back. "We don't discuss that."
"Maybe we should. Maybe if you explained to Lady Adeline that you can't feel—"
"I said enough."
Daniel held his gaze for a long moment, then nodded once. "As you wish, Your Grace. I'll inform your mother you'll review the seating arrangements by week's end."
After he left, Cassian sat in silence, his hands flat on the desk. The curse. As if it were that simple. As if it were something that could be explained away with a few words.
The Vere family curse was a well-guarded secret, known only to a handful of people. A magical binding placed three generations ago, born of old blood magic and political betrayal. The specifics were complex, but the result was straightforward: strong emotions triggered physical pain. The stronger the emotion, the worse the pain.
Fear, rage, joy, grief—all of it brought the curse to life. A tightening in the chest, a burning in the veins, pressure behind the eyes that felt like his skull might crack open. In childhood, before he'd learned control, it had been debilitating. He'd screamed through his father's funeral, seven years old and sobbing while his body felt like it was being torn apart from the inside.
His mother had been the one to explain it, eventually. To teach him that the only solution was not to feel. To cultivate emptiness. To make himself a perfectly controlled shell where emotions couldn't take root.
It had worked. By the time he inherited the duchy at nineteen, Cassian had perfected the art of feeling nothing. No fear when facing down enemy forces. No anger when dealing with political betrayals. No joy at victories or grief at losses.
Just cold, clear calculation.
It made him an excellent duke. An brilliant military commander. A valuable political ally.
And it would make him a terrible husband.
Cassian stared at the grain manifests without seeing them. Lady Adeline Kael had no idea what she was agreeing to. She probably imagined a normal marriage—affection, companionship, perhaps even love eventually. She seemed the romantic type, with her soft smiles and eager conversations.
She would be disappointed.
But disappointment was survivable. Women married men who didn't love them all the time; it was practically a noble tradition. She'd adjust. Find her own interests, her own life within the framework of being a duchess. Many wives did.
And if she didn't adjust—well. That wasn't his concern. His concern was duty. The alliance. The continuation of his bloodline.
Everything else was irrelevant.
A knock at the door interrupted his thoughts. "Enter."
His secretary, a nervous young man named Marcus, stepped inside with a sealed letter. "Your Grace, this just arrived from Marquis Kael. Marked urgent."
Cassian took it, noting the quality of the paper, the precise seal. "That will be all."
After Marcus left, Cassian broke the seal and unfolded the letter. It was brief. Respectful. And completely unexpected.
---
*Your Grace,*
*I write with regards to the understanding between our families. After careful consideration and discussion with my daughter, I must respectfully request a delay in formalizing the engagement between yourself and Lady Adeline.*
*This is not a reflection on House Vere or your esteemed self. Rather, my daughter has expressed reservations that I believe deserve serious consideration. She is young, and perhaps not yet ready for the responsibilities such a marriage would entail.*
*I propose we postpone any official announcement until such time as both parties feel more certain of the arrangement. I hope this does not cause undue inconvenience, and I remain committed to maintaining the friendship between our houses.*
*With deepest respect,*
*Marquis Jin-Woo Kael*
---
Cassian read it twice. Then a third time.
Lady Adeline Kael—the girl who'd smiled too much and hung on his every word—had reservations about marrying him?
It was... unexpected. No, more than that. It was unprecedented. Noble daughters didn't refuse advantageous marriages to powerful dukes. They certainly didn't express "reservations" that their fathers actually honored.
Cassian leaned back in his chair, studying the letter. The wording was diplomatic, almost apologetic. But underneath the courtesy was something firm. Marquis Kael wasn't asking permission to delay; he was informing Cassian of a decision already made.
Because his daughter had asked him to.
Something unfamiliar stirred in Cassian's chest—not quite curiosity, because curiosity was an emotion and emotions triggered the curse. But something adjacent to it. An intellectual interest in a puzzle that didn't fit the expected pattern.
What had changed? The last time he'd seen Lady Adeline was two months ago, at a court function. She'd approached him with that eager smile, asked about his recent military campaign, laughed at something he'd said that wasn't remotely humorous. She'd seemed perfectly content with the arrangement.
Now, apparently, she had reservations.
The practical response would be to accept the delay gracefully. Let the Kael family save face, maintain the alliance without the marriage, and eventually arrange a different match with a different noble daughter who wouldn't develop sudden doubts.
That was the logical course of action.
So why did the thought of simply accepting this refusal feel... wrong?
Cassian stood abruptly, walking to the window Daniel had occupied earlier. The gardens stretched before him in their perfect geometric patterns. Everything in its place. Everything controlled.
He'd spent years building that control. Perfecting it. And part of that control was understanding people—what motivated them, what they wanted, what they feared. It was essential for military strategy and political maneuvering.
Lady Adeline Kael had wanted this marriage. He'd seen it in the way she looked at him, the way she'd tried so hard to engage his interest. Young noblewomen didn't develop that kind of obvious infatuation and then suddenly change their minds without reason.
Something had happened. Something had shifted.
The intellectual puzzle nagged at him like an itch he couldn't scratch.
Another knock. Cassian turned. "What is it?"
Daniel stepped in again, his expression carefully blank. "Your mother heard about the letter from Marquis Kael. She'd like to speak with you."
Of course she had. His mother had spies throughout the household, information networks that would impress most intelligence services. Nothing escaped her notice.
"Tell her I'll visit her chambers this evening."
"She's outside your study right now."
Cassian closed his eyes briefly. "Of course she is."
Duchess Helena Vere entered like a queen entering a throne room—all elegant posture and calculated grace. At forty-eight, she was still beautiful, her blonde hair showing only strategic threads of silver, her blue eyes sharp as cut glass.
"Leave us," she said to Daniel without looking at him.
Daniel glanced at Cassian, who nodded once. The door clicked shut.
"Mother."
"She refused you." Helena's voice was silk over steel. "A minor marquis's daughter refused my son."
"She requested a delay," Cassian corrected. "There's a difference."
"There is no difference. Delay is refusal wrapped in prettier words." Helena moved to his desk, picking up the letter and reading it with obvious distaste. "Reservations. What possible reservations could she have? You're a duke, you're wealthy, you're—"
"Perhaps she doesn't want to marry a man she barely knows."
The words surprised him as much as they seemed to surprise his mother. Where had that come from? He didn't care what Lady Adeline wanted or didn't want.
Did he?
Helena's eyes narrowed. "Since when do you concern yourself with what wives want? This is a political arrangement. The girl's personal preferences are irrelevant."
"Are they?" Cassian took the letter back from his mother's hands. "Perhaps that's why she refused. Perhaps she's smarter than we gave her credit for."
"Smarter?" Helena's laugh was cold. "She's throwing away the match of a lifetime because of girlish nerves. This is foolishness, not intelligence."
Cassian studied the letter again. The handwriting was neat, controlled. The language diplomatic but firm. It didn't read like a nervous girl's whim. It read like a considered decision.
"What do you propose we do?" he asked.
"Refuse the delay. Insist the engagement proceed as planned. Marquis Kael cannot afford to offend us—his territory is too vulnerable, his political position too weak. He'll capitulate if we pressure him."
"And force his daughter into a marriage she clearly doesn't want."
"Yes." Helena said it without hesitation. "That's precisely what you'll do. Because this alliance is important, and because noble daughters don't dictate terms to dukes."
Cassian looked at his mother—really looked at her. Saw the calculation in her eyes, the absolute certainty that her way was the only way. She'd ruled this duchy through his father's volatile temperament and then through Cassian's own youth. She was brilliant, ruthless, and utterly convinced of her own righteousness.
She was also wrong.
The realization settled over him with surprising clarity. Forcing Lady Adeline into marriage against her will wouldn't create a stable alliance. It would create resentment, possibly even an enemy. And for what? There were other potential matches, other alliances to be made.
So why did the thought of simply letting this go still feel wrong?
"I'll consider it," Cassian said.
"There's nothing to consider—"
"I said I'll consider it." His voice dropped into the register that made even his mother pause. "This is my decision, Mother. Not yours."
They stared at each other for a long moment. Finally, Helena nodded once, sharply. "Very well. But don't take too long. Every day we delay makes us look weak."
After she left, Cassian sat back at his desk, the letter still in his hands.
Lady Adeline Kael. The girl with the eager smile and the amber eyes. The one who'd seemed so obviously infatuated, so clearly willing.
Now apparently unwilling.
Why?
The question circled in his mind like a hawk over prey. It shouldn't matter. There were logical reasons to accept the delay, practical arguments for moving on to a different match. His mother's approach—forcing the issue—was emotionally satisfying perhaps, but strategically questionable.
The smart choice was obvious.
But Cassian found himself reaching for fresh paper, dipping his pen in ink.
---
*Marquis Kael,*
*I received your letter and understand your position. However, before we make any final decisions regarding the arrangement, I would like to request a meeting with Lady Adeline herself.*
*If she has reservations about this marriage, I believe she should express them directly rather than through intermediaries. I propose a private conversation, properly chaperoned of course, at a time and location of her choosing.*
*I have no wish to force an unwilling bride, but I believe we both deserve the courtesy of a frank discussion before dissolving an arrangement that took months to negotiate.*
*Your servant,*
*Duke Cassian Vere*
---
He sealed it before he could reconsider. Called for Marcus to have it delivered immediately.
Only after the letter was gone did Cassian pause to examine what he'd just done.
He'd initiated personal contact with Lady Adeline Kael. Requested a private meeting. Expressed interest in her thoughts and feelings.
All things he'd carefully avoided during the months of engagement negotiations.
Why now? Why did it suddenly matter what she thought?
The answer nagged at him like the edge of the curse—a pressure building, uncomfortable but not yet painful. He pushed it down with practiced ease, returning to his work.
But throughout the rest of the afternoon, through meetings and correspondence and the hundred small decisions that filled a duke's day, one thought kept surfacing:
What had changed Lady Adeline Kael's mind?
And why did Cassian Vere, who prided himself on feeling nothing, suddenly care so much about the answer?