Esper reached into her bag and pulled out an envelope, then tossed it onto the table like it was a dead insect.
The paper was expensive, thick and faintly textured, the kind that practically announced wealth before you even read the ink.
The seal was ornate, stamped with a crest Soren didn't recognise at a glance, and the handwriting was careful and elegant, each line measured.
"One of the more polite ones," Esper said, chin tilted. "Pick it up."
Soren stared at it for a second, then took it, fingers careful.
The first paragraph was polite enough to be meaningless.
Compliments woven into flattery, admiration disguised as respect, that particular noble style of writing where every sentence tried to sound important, as if sincerity was beneath them.
Soren read it once, then again, not because he needed to, but because he refused to miss anything when it came to someone trying to step into their lives.
Then the point arrived.
A proposal.
Not blunt, not desperate, but strategic, framed as a "mutually beneficial arrangement," praising Esper's beauty and "exceptional future," and slipping Soren's name in like an inconvenient detail to be corrected.
There were phrases about protection, status, legacy, the subtle implication that she deserved better, and that better could be provided by the man who'd written this.
Soren felt his mouth tighten.
He folded the letter back up and set it down with careful control, like he didn't trust himself not to crumple it, like he didn't trust his hands not to betray how sharp the irritation was.
Esper watched him with a smile that looked too sweet to be genuine.
"Well?"
Soren kept his voice calm, but the edge bled through anyway.
"Why are you receiving those?"
Esper chuckled, amused in the same way someone laughed at something exhausting, something they were tired of having to explain.
"Because people think they can get away with it."
"Because your father isn't defending the engagement," Soren said, connecting the dots, the pieces clicking together in a way he didn't enjoy.
"Exactly."
Esper's eyes narrowed in satisfaction.
"See? My Cutie is smart. But there are other reasons too," she muttered, already sounding bored of listing them. "Because people are idiots. Because your family is running their mouth. Because there are rumours about you. Because everyone sees an opening and decides it's a good time to try and grab me. Take your pick, it could be any one of them."
"How many have you gotten?" Soren asked.
Esper's gaze drifted upward like she was doing the math, then she let her head tilt back against the chair in exaggerated misery.
"A lot."
"That's not an answer."
"It's the only answer I'm willing to give without throwing myself into a dramatic monologue," Esper replied, and sighed again, slow and heavy. "Enough that I'm bored of it."
Soren's eyes lowered to the letter again, the neat handwriting suddenly more offensive than it had any right to be.
"They're saying they can do better than me."
Esper's smile sharpened.
"Mm."
She lifted her mug, took a sip, and shrugged as if she were discussing the weather.
"Nine out of ten mention how they can do better than you. How they can offer more. How they can 'protect' me more appropriately."
Soren's jaw tightened.
"And the worst ones just say you're downright not worthy," Esper continued, voice bright again as if she were discussing dessert options.
That landed harder than the flowery insults deserved.
Not because Soren believed them or because the words had the power to define him, but because hearing strangers talk about him like he was dirt in order to reach Esper made something dark rise in his chest, something sharp that wanted to bite back.
He didn't let it show too much.
Instead, he exhaled and spoke bluntly.
"I'm sorry."
Esper waved her hand like she was brushing dust off her sleeve.
"I don't care about their opinions."
Soren didn't look convinced, and Esper met his gaze, her expression tightening for a heartbeat before she softened her tone by a fraction, just enough to make it sound real.
"I care about being treated like a prize," she said quietly. "I care about my father acting like he owns my future. I care about nobles acting like engagement is a negotiation rather than a choice."
The vulnerability lasted a heartbeat.
And then Esper blinked, straightened, and the cheer snapped back into place as if it had never existed.
"So," she continued brightly, "I'm ranting. To you. Because I'm allowed to rant. Your job as my fiancé is to listen."
Soren stared at her for a moment, and despite everything, faint amusement crept into his expression.
"Is that so?"
Esper nodded, completely shameless.
"Yes. I'm tired, and you're convenient, and you won't freak out."
"That's a charming reason."
"I'm charming," Esper corrected.
Soren huffed, then nodded slightly.
"Alright. Rant all you want."
Esper's eyes brightened, and for the next few minutes she launched into it with the kind of energy that only existed because she was forcing it into existence.
She mocked the letter's wording first, exaggerating the formal greetings, pitching her voice into an overly refined lilt as she quoted lines from memory, then ruined the imitation by dropping back into her normal tone and pulling a face like she had tasted something sour.
She complained about how every nobleman wrote like he was trying to seduce a council vote, how they couldn't just say what they wanted without wrapping it in a dozen layers of politeness that meant nothing.
Soren listened, and when she paused to breathe, he gave her what she wanted: a dry comment, a small joke, a quiet "that's disgusting" delivered with enough flatness to make her snort.
He didn't comment on the way she switched between amused and exhausted so quickly it almost felt like watching someone change masks mid-sentence.
Sometimes the cheer looked real.
Sometimes it looked like armour she had learned to snap into place without thinking, because armour was easier than letting people see her tired.
Soren had learned that the easiest way to deal with Esper was to act like her emotions weren't something he needed to dissect.
If he tried to pry, she would bite.
If he treated her like she was fragile, she would get offended.
If he sat with her the way she asked, steady, unimpressed, present, she would eventually show him what she wanted him to see.
So he stayed steady.
He let her vent, let her rant, let her twist the ugliness into comedy when she needed to, and when she dipped into something sharper, he didn't flinch.
Esper mimicked a few more lines from the letter, then leaned forward to tap the paper with one perfectly manicured nail.
"And the way they always phrase it like they're doing me a favour," she complained, eyes narrowing. "As if I'm going to read that and think, oh yes, thank you for saving me from my terrible situation of being engaged to a man who actually listens."
Soren glanced down at the envelope again, then back up at her.
"They're not subtle."
"They think subtlety is for poor people," Esper replied, then let out a slow breath and slumped back again.
The performance drained out of her shoulders as if someone had pulled a string.
"I've gotten so many of these that I could wallpaper my room and still have leftovers."
Soren's gaze flicked to her bag.
"You kept them?"
Esper's lips curled. "Of course I kept them. If I throw them away, then I don't get the satisfaction of knowing exactly how many idiots are trying to crawl into my life."
She paused, then added with a touch more honesty than her tone suggested, "Also, they're evidence. Noble men get braver when they think you can't prove what they've implied."
Soren's eyes narrowed a fraction.
"Have any of them been… worse than this?"
Esper lifted a shoulder in a delicate shrug, but the movement didn't fully reach her eyes.
"Some are more insulting. Some are more aggressive. Some get creative and try to pretend they're being respectful while still suggesting you should be removed from the equation."
Her gaze sharpened again, lips pressing together briefly before she forced a smirk back into place.
"And some," she added lightly, "are written by men who clearly believe 'no' is a suggestion, not an answer."
Soren's fingers tightened once against the edge of the table, then loosened, because anger wasn't going to help her right now, and he refused to make this about him when she had brought it here because she was tired.
"You shouldn't have to deal with that," he said, voice low.
Esper blinked at him, then looked away like she had suddenly found the mana lights fascinating.
"I'm aware."
Soren let the quiet sit for a moment, then spoke again, more practical.
"Is anyone else aware? Louise? Olivia? Amelia? Any of your friends?"
Esper's eyes flicked back to him.
"Oh please, I'm not close enough with anyone else to show them. I may have a lot of friends, but as a noble, you should know how shallow those friendships are."
Soren could imagine it too easily, so he let out a sigh.
Esper's gaze stayed on him, and for a moment the room felt smaller, quieter, like even the padded walls were listening.
By the time Esper ran out of steam, the tea had cooled.
The warmth from the cups was gone, replaced by porcelain that looked pretty and felt useless, and the mana lights didn't flicker once, steady and indifferent.
Esper leaned back again, eyes half-lidded, smile returning one last time, softer now, less weapon, more habit.
"Anyway," she said, voice airy, like she could toss the whole mess over her shoulder and walk away from it. "That's what's up."
Soren watched her in silence for a moment, and when he spoke again, his voice was a little more serious than before.
"Is there anything I can do?"
Esper's eyes flicked to him.
The smile stayed.
Something behind it shifted, as if she were about to choose what kind of honesty she wanted to offer next.
————「❤︎」————