March – Markov Estate
Days of Shadows and Silk
Three days had passed since the Aldwynn family arrived.
Jay had tried to stay busy—early training, briefings with Vincent, scheduled inspections across the estate—but somehow, Christin kept showing up. Not deliberately. Not loudly. But always present.
She was in the west courtyard when he walked past after sparring. She was in the study room at the same hour he needed a ledger. She was at the library balcony, flipping through an old volume of estate history with a ribbon tucked neatly between the pages.
Not once did she acknowledge the coincidences.
Not once did she apologize for them.
By the fourth day, Jay stopped pretending it was an accident.
She belonged here now. That was the truth. Whether he liked it or not.
The Garden Interlude
Jay didn't expect to see her in the lower gardens.
The sun was starting to sink, gold bleeding across the hedges and fountains. Jay had walked down to clear his head, maybe sketch for a while.
Instead, he found Christin sitting beneath the cypress tree. A tray beside her with two cups of tea.
She didn't look up until he was close enough to speak.
"Coincidence?" Jay asked.
"No," she said. "This time I invited myself."
Jay hesitated. Then sat.
The tea was still warm.
"You really came prepared," he said, taking a sip.
"I know how Markovs avoid people," she replied. "I figured tea was safer than ambush."
Jay chuckled. "Slightly."
They sat in companionable quiet for a minute, the wind tugging gently at her braid.
"Your father's going to ask something big, isn't he?" Jay finally said.
She didn't flinch. "Yes."
"You know what it is?"
She looked at him. "Do you?"
Jay shook his head. "No. But I can feel it coming."
She lowered her gaze to her teacup. "Then you're smarter than most here."
Jay leaned back on his elbows, watching the sky fade to lavender.
"You're not like I remember," he said.
Christin's eyes flicked to him. "How did you remember me?"
"Colder."
She smiled faintly. "I used to be colder. You're warmer than I expected."
"That's probably because I'm bleeding internally most days."
She laughed. It surprised both of them.
Jay turned his head to look at her directly. "Why do you do this? Be kind one moment, and ruthless the next?"
"Because I was taught kindness is a luxury," she said. "But if I only follow that... I'll forget I'm human."
Jay didn't respond. He understood that far too well.
III. The Drawing Room
Later that evening, Jay returned to the quietest part of the estate—the second-floor drawing room.
He brought his sketchbook. For once, he wasn't avoiding Christin. He just needed the silence.
But five minutes after he sat, the door creaked open.
"I'm not stalking you," she said.
Jay looked up. "Didn't say you were."
She stepped inside, slow and careful, as if testing whether he'd allow her presence.
He returned to his drawing. "Close the door."
She did.
He drew in silence. She sat beside the window.
Eventually, Christin stood and walked behind him, peering over his shoulder.
"What are you drawing?"
"Nothing."
She leaned closer. "It looks like the east gate."
"It's not."
She smiled. "It's very good for not being anything."
Jay put down the pencil.
"Why are you really here?" he asked again.
Christin didn't back away.
"Because you intrigue me," she said softly. "Because something about you makes this cold place feel a little less like a prison."
Jay looked up.
"You're not supposed to say things like that."
She didn't look away. "And yet I did."
He held her gaze for one heartbeat. Then another.
The tension was there—coiled, but not dangerous.
Not yet.
"You should go," he said, finally.
She nodded.
But she didn't leave right away.
Only after a long moment did she turn and walk to the door.
"Good night, Jay," she said.
And for once, he didn't mind hearing his name in her voice.
Wires and Echoes
Later that night, Jay found Vincent waiting quietly by the end of the hallway.
The butler was not dressed in his usual formal coat, but in a dark overrobe, a book folded under one arm—less advisor, more guardian.
"You've been... engaged," Vincent said mildly.
Jay arched an eyebrow. "That's one way to describe it."
"She speaks with purpose," Vincent continued, eyes sharp. "But not malice."
Jay crossed his arms. "She's Aldwynn. Everything they say is calculated."
"That may be true of Lord Aldwynn," Vincent said. "But the daughter speaks more... freely. Carefully, yes. But not deceptively."
Jay didn't respond.
Vincent gave a pause, then added, "It doesn't appear she came here looking at you as a potential heir."
Jay narrowed his eyes. "But?"
"But," Vincent said, "her presence here is not random. Her father may not see you as the heir—but she may see something else. Strength. Independence. Integrity. A future."
Jay leaned against the wall. "That's too poetic for politics."
Vincent gave a rare, thin smile. "Sometimes, young master, poetry is just politics dressed with honesty."
Jay let the silence stretch between them.
"She's not trying to manipulate me," he said.
"No," Vincent agreed. "She's observing. Listening. Possibly... understanding."
Jay nodded once. Slowly.
"She's not here to play games," Vincent added. "And neither are you."
The butler turned and walked down the corridor; book tucked under his arm.
Jay stood still for a while, eyes on the empty hallway.
He didn't know what this was.
But it wasn't just diplomacy anymore.
And somehow, that didn't feel like a trap.
It felt like a beginning.