March – Markov Estate
A House in Motion
There was a different rhythm to the estate that morning.
Not the usual, measured elegance. Not the hushed power that accompanied strategy meetings or foreign dignitary visits.
This was livelier. Sharper. More theatrical.
By breakfast, the marble halls echoed with the tapping of heels and rapid-fire instructions. Silver was polished. Invitations were delivered. Staff bustled between wings like coordinated shadows. Something big was brewing.
Jay stood at the top of the central stairwell, arms crossed, watching the flurry below.
The noble gathering—an annual estate-hosted evening that welcomed the key families, political allies, and "upwardly ambitious" bloodlines—was officially three days away. But judging by the storm of movement this morning, you'd think it was tonight.
"Do I look excited?" Clara asked as she glided past him in a silk robe.
"You look like you're already planning someone's social execution," Jay replied.
She grinned. "That's because I am."
He turned to follow. "Any reason I wasn't informed this early?"
"You were training," she said simply. "And you tend to... overthink."
"I tend to prepare."
"Same thing, just with different lighting."
She disappeared around the corner, already calling instructions to a junior maid about flower arrangements.
Jay sighed.
Three days.
He could survive that.
Probably.
Invitations and Implications
By noon, Jay was summoned to the east drawing hall. Vincent met him outside with a silver tray carrying sealed envelopes.
"Noble houses attending. A few names you might recognize. A few you'll want to avoid."
Jay skimmed through them. House Deneuve. House Vale. House Aldwynn, obviously. A few lesser families from the southern trade coast.
"No Cain?"
"Marius does not enjoy social settings."
Jay smirked. "Or people."
Vincent gave a neutral nod.
"I assume I'm required to attend."
"Mandatory. You're representing the younger Markov line."
"Wonderful."
Jay handed the tray back. "Outfits ready?"
"Clara requested custom tailoring. Your measurements were taken while you slept."
Jay blinked. "That's not creepy at all."
Vincent raised an eyebrow. "It was my idea."
"...That's somehow worse."
They entered the hall.
Across the room, Christin stood by the fireplace, speaking softly with a staff member. She wore a navy ensemble today, minimal jewellery, but as always—perfect posture, perfectly framed composure.
She noticed Jay immediately.
Excused herself.
And walked straight toward him.
III. A Favor with Thorns
"I need a favor," she said before he could speak.
Jay blinked. "Is this where I run?"
"No," she said, "this is where you listen."
He folded his arms. "I'm listening."
"There's a dance planned," she said. "A formal one. Opening pair from each major house."
"I'm not heir."
"You're second in line. That's enough for optics."
Jay narrowed his eyes. "You want me to—?"
"Partner with me," she said plainly.
He hesitated.
"You don't have to say yes now," she added. "But they'll announce pairings tomorrow. I thought you might appreciate a head start."
Jay tilted his head. "Why me?"
"Because if I don't ask, someone else will. And if it's Clara, we both lose."
Jay sighed. "You know how to make a case."
She smiled. "It's a strength."
He didn't say yes.
But he didn't say no, either.
She took that as a win.
Under Polished Ceilings
Later that evening, Jay wandered past the ballroom. The chandeliers were already being cleaned. Dozens of workers adjusted lighting rigs and mirrored panels. The grand piano in the corner was being tuned by a silent older man in gloves.
Jay walked the length of the floor. It was gleaming now—more stage than dance floor.
He paused in the center.
Looked up.
Tried to picture the room full. Music swelling. Lights catching on gowns and glass.
Tried to picture her, standing across from him.
Christin.
And then—
Someone else.
A memory of a rooftop. A sigh. A voice calling his name with concern, not ceremony.
Jay's hands clenched at his side.
He turned away from the piano.
He had three days.
He could survive that.
But surviving wasn't the problem.
It was the eyes that would be watching.
And the expectations he no longer had the luxury to ignore.