Kael stood there — arms crossed, jaw set, and every muscle in his face screaming resistance.
"I'm not doing that," he said flatly.
Zelene blinked at him from across the study, exasperation clear. "You do realize," she began, "that if we walk into the capital looking like we can barely tolerate each other, it defeats the entire purpose of our plan."
His gaze didn't even flicker. "Then perhaps we shouldn't walk in together."
"Oh, that's rich," she snapped. "Lord Dravenhart, the man who can charge through a battalion without flinching, is afraid of smiling at his fiancée for five minutes?"
"I'm not afraid," he replied, tone deceptively calm. "I simply don't see the use in pretending."
Zelene took a slow step forward, folding her arms. "Pretending is half of politics. You'd know that if you ever left your fortress long enough to notice how the rest of us survive."
That earned her a sharp look. "You think this place was built by pretending?"
"I think," she countered, meeting his stare, "that it was built by fighting. And that's exactly why people in the capital are terrified of you — and why they'll never listen. Not unless they see something human."
Kael's jaw flexed. "You mean something weak."
"No," Zelene said, softer now. "Something real."
A quiet beat stretched between them — the kind of silence that hummed with all the things neither dared say aloud.
Finally, Kael exhaled through his nose, resigned. "Fine. What do you suggest?"
Zelene's lips curved, a spark of mischief returning. "We start with the basics. Walk beside me. Smile. Maybe look like you don't want to exile me to the farthest mountain."
He gave her a blank look. "That's the most absurd instruction I've ever heard."
"Then you'll fit perfectly into high society," she replied sweetly.
She stepped closer, reaching up — and Kael stiffened as her hand brushed his sleeve, adjusting it like a proper noble's partner might. "See? Nothing painful. Just a little gesture of... proximity."
Kael's voice was low, roughened. "And what's next? You'll ask me to whisper sweet nothings in your ear while we plot the destruction of my enemies?"
Zelene smirked. "If it helps our cause, perhaps."
---
Zelene tilted her chin up. "All right," she said, in her most commanding tone. "Pretend I'm a court lady you actually like."
Kael gave her a look that bordered between disbelief and despair. "That's impossible."
"Try harder," she shot back.
He sighed, long-suffering, and stepped closer — rigid as ever. "Fine. What do I do?"
"Well, for starters," Zelene said, "stop standing like a statue at your own funeral. Relax. A little."
"I am relaxed."
She arched a brow. "You look like you're bracing for an assassination attempt."
"That's because I might be," he muttered.
She rolled her eyes, stepping closer to fix the collar of his coat. "There. Now—" she reached up, fingers brushing lightly against his neck, "—try not to look like I just committed treason by existing near you."
Kael's eyes flicked down at her, his voice dropping low. "You give a lot of commands for someone trespassing in my study."
"I'm training my future husband. That's different."
"Training," he repeated dryly. "Interesting word choice."
Zelene smirked. "You'd prefer taming?"
His breath caught just slightly — and Zelene caught it. A flicker of triumph sparked in her chest. She wasn't sure if it was from the banter, or the rare satisfaction of seeing him unsettled for once.
"Now, smile," she instructed.
Kael blinked. "What?"
"Smile. You know—when the corners of your mouth move upward?"
"I know what it is," he said, deadpan. "I just don't see why."
"Oh for heaven's sake—" Zelene reached up, poked his cheek lightly with her finger. "There. You almost look friendly."
Before Kael could retort, Zelene stumbled slightly — the edge of the rug catching her heel. Kael's hand shot out, gripping her by the waist with quick, soldier-like reflex. She gasped, palms flat against his chest.
The world froze.
His hand was still there, steady, warm through the layers of her dress. Zelene's heartbeat jumped embarrassingly loud in her ears. Kael blinked once — and then, very slowly, he seemed to realize the position they were in.
"Right," he said, his voice carefully neutral. "So... that's proximity."
"Strictly professional proximity," she replied, equally controlled.
They stayed like that one beat too long.
And then—
"...My Lord?" a voice broke the air.
Both of them turned sharply.
At the doorway stood Darius, Kael's right-hand man — a folder of reports clutched in his hand and an expression that screamed I-should-not-be-seeing-this.
The silence was excruciating.
Zelene cleared her throat, stepping back. "Lord Dravenhart and I were... rehearsing."
"For...?" Darius asked, tone too cautious.
"Our public appearances," Zelene said, forcing composure. "You know, politics. Smiles. Body language."
Kael pinched the bridge of his nose. "Darius."
"Yes, my Lord?"
"Say nothing."
"Of course, my Lord."
"Forget this ever happened."
"Already have, my Lord."
But Darius' mouth twitched the slightest bit before he bowed and left — and Zelene was certain he was laughing behind that polite façade.
The door closed. Silence again.
Then Zelene spoke first, pretending to smooth her dress. "Well. That went perfectly."
Kael gave her a look that was almost amused. "You call that perfect?"
She grinned. "For a first rehearsal? Absolutely. You didn't run away."
He exhaled — and though he tried to hide it, there was a faint curve to his lips.
It wasn't much. But for Kael Dravenhart, it was practically a miracle.
---
By morning, the entire manor hummed with something.
It wasn't visible — not like the clatter of trays or the brisk steps of servants — but it lingered in the air like perfume. Too sweet, too curious.
Zelene could feel it the moment she stepped out of her chambers. The maids froze for half a heartbeat, exchanging glances that were far too quick to be innocent. One of them blushed so hard she nearly dropped a pitcher.
She sighed. Here we go.
"Good morning, Lady Evandelle!" one chirped, a little too brightly.
"Good morning," Zelene said carefully, eyeing her. "Why does everyone sound like they're about to faint?"
"Oh, n-no reason at all, my lady!"
Behind her, another maid coughed into her apron — badly disguised laughter.
Zelene narrowed her eyes. "You've all heard something, haven't you?"
"No, my lady!"
"Yes, my lady— I mean, no!"
She folded her arms. "Out with it."
The youngest maid, cheeks red and eyes wide, finally blurted, "They said you and the Duke were... seen together. In his study."
Zelene blinked. "We were talking."
The maid's blush deepened. "They... they didn't say it sounded like talking, my lady."
Zelene nearly groaned. Of course.
Later, she caught Kael in one of the corridors, seemingly unbothered. His composure was so perfect it irritated her.
"Enjoying the rumors?" she asked under her breath.
"I haven't heard any," he replied smoothly.
"Liar."
"I prefer selectively deaf."
Zelene scowled. "They think we were—" she waved her hands vaguely, "—being romantic."
Kael gave her the barest side glance. "And that bothers you?"
"It bothers me that you're calm about it!"
"I don't control what people think, Lady Evandelle," he said, walking past her. "Let them think what they want. For once, their delusion works in our favor."
She gaped after him. "Unbelievable."
But of course, he didn't look back.
That night, Zelene sat before her mirror, brushing through her hair while the quiet hum of the manor settled into calm. A maid — older, gentler — helped fold her gown and set out tea.
"My lady," the woman said softly, after a long silence, "if I may speak freely?"
Zelene glanced up. "You may."
The maid smiled faintly. "You bring light into this place. The Duke's halls have always been... quiet. Heavy. But since your arrival, the staff— we feel hope. We think this marriage will be good for him."
Zelene froze mid-motion. "Good for him?"
"Yes, my lady." The maid's smile turned wistful. "He's... different with you. Softer. We're grateful for that."
The words lodged somewhere between Zelene's ribs.
When the maid finally left, the silence felt thicker. Heavier.
Zelene looked at her reflection — perfect posture, composed expression — but her mind was restless.
So they're not pretending.
She remembered the warmth in every meal served, the polite smiles, the carefully folded linens — too earnest to be mere duty.
Their performance, too perfect to be real feeling... yet perhaps, it wasn't performance at all.
Maybe they wanted her to feel welcome. Maybe they needed her to believe this house could be home.
She leaned back, staring at the candlelight flickering on the walls.
So that's it, she thought. That's the only explanation for this strange kindness. They want me to stay — to like this place. To belong.
Her hand curled over her heart.