March – Capital of Virelia, Diplomatic Hotel, Day 2
The Calm Before the Course
The second day arrived with silver clouds and steady rain that pattered gently against the glass walls of their suite.
Jay watched it from the couch, one leg crossed over the other, reading through the file Vincent had left him. Each page was more jargon-laced than the last—historical trade rights, agricultural subsidies, maritime transport permissions.
Across the lounge, Christin sipped her morning coffee.
"You're overthinking," she said, echoing herself from the plane.
Jay groaned. "Why does this read like a legal riddle?"
"Because it is."
She closed her tablet and stood. "Tonight is the welcome banquet. You'll meet everyone. House Duvall will host, but others will attend—Frey court, Amsel, perhaps even a representative from the Hanthorne Alliance."
Jay sighed. "Let me guess. I'm not supposed to say anything stupid."
"No," she said, walking past him. "You're supposed to say nothing at all. Unless I ask."
He frowned. "So, I'm just the... pretty accessory?"
She paused by the door, turned slightly. "You've been charming your way out of real questions since you were fifteen. I'm just asking you to weaponize it."
Jay grinned. "You flatter me."
She rolled her eyes but didn't deny it.
The Arrival
The banquet hall was lit like a ballroom—crystal chandeliers catching every golden thread woven into the long tables, soft music echoing from a live quartet near the archways.
Jay entered in a tailored suit—dark grey, navy accents, a Markov family pin gleaming subtly at the collar.
Christin walked beside him, as poised as always, dressed in a midnight dress with subtle navy threading that matched his. Coordinated. Calculated.
They were announced with formality, but not flair.
"Representatives of House Markov and House Aldwynn."
Heads turned.
And then the game began.
III. The Dinner Table Gauntlet
They were seated mid-table—close enough to power to be seen, far enough not to seem arrogant.
House Duvall's heir, Arienne Duvall, presided at the head. She was young—perhaps early twenties—but carried herself like someone born in silk and sharpened by negotiation.
She greeted Christin with a warm, gloved handshake.
Then she looked at Jay.
"So, this is the second Markov."
Jay gave a polite nod. "Only in birth order, Lady Arienne."
Her smile widened. "Charming. That's dangerous."
Dinner began.
Courses were elaborate but not showy—herb-roasted sea bass, saffron risotto, sparkling juice from the northern orchards. Every bite was followed by polite conversation laced with venom.
A merchant lord from House Amsel leaned toward Jay. "I hear you've been quite... reclusive. Is it true the Markovs are grooming you as an alternative to your brother?"
Jay smiled. "Is it true House Amsel still owes half its fleet to Hanthorne?"
The merchant blinked.
Christin cut in smoothly. "We're all here to discuss forward-thinking cooperation, aren't we?"
The room chuckled lightly.
Jay leaned closer to her, whispering, "How'd I do?"
"Seven out of ten," she whispered back. "Points off for bluntness."
"I'll take it."
Smoke and Mirrors
As the dinner continued, conversation grew more pointed.
Talk turned to trade routes, winter blockades, resource exchanges. Jay mostly listened, absorbing how language bent without breaking, how smiles carried threats and favors in equal measure.
Christin danced through it all.
She parried questions with elegance, offered insights without pledging anything, and drew attention to Jay only when necessary.
At one point, Lady Arienne leaned over.
"Your partner's impressive," she said. "But you—there's something unpredictable in you."
Jay took a sip of his drink. "I've been told I'm not very well-behaved."
She smiled. "Good. The well-behaved never win."
After the Applause
When the final toast ended and guests began drifting toward the terrace, Jay and Christin moved quietly to the far window, looking down over the lit city.
He let out a breath.
"I survived."
Christin leaned beside him. "You didn't just survive. You didn't flinch."
Jay looked at her. "You make it easier."
She met his eyes.
There was a moment—small, silent, but charged.
Then she said, "Get used to it. Tomorrow's worse."
Jay groaned. "Of course it is."
They stayed by the window a little longer.
Close, quiet, and—without saying it—more of a team than ever before.