The tea arrived on a silver tray along with a stack of documents that made Rachel's heart sing in a way that probably wasn't normal. The maid looked bewildered as she set down what appeared to be the entire contents of the Ashworth family's legal archives.
"The steward said these were all he could find on short notice, my lady. He seemed quite concerned about your sudden interest in such matters."
"Tell the steward he's a gentleman and a scholar," Rachel said, already reaching for the first contract.
The maid hesitated at the door. "Will you be taking callers today? Several ladies have sent cards inquiring about your health."
"No callers. I'm indisposed." Rachel waved a hand dismissively, her eyes already scanning the ornate script of what appeared to be her parents' marriage contract. "Tell them I'm recuperating."
"And if Lady Celestia comes? She sent three notes this morning asking after you."
Rachel's hand stilled on the parchment. Right. Celestia. The heroine. In the novel, Seraphina and Celestia had been childhood friends, though their relationship had always felt shallow and one-sided. Celestia used Seraphina as a sounding board for her romantic dramatics, while Seraphina existed primarily to make the heroine look better by comparison.
"If Lady Celestia comes, tell her I'm sleeping. Doctor's orders."
The maid bobbed a curtsy and left, closing the door with a soft click.
Rachel spread the documents across the bed like a general surveying a battlefield. Marriage contracts, inheritance clauses, property agreements. The language was archaic and flowery, but the bones were familiar. Every legal system had the same basic structure—rules, loopholes, and the space between them where clever lawyers operated.
The Ashworth marriage contract was particularly illuminating. Her father—Seraphina's father, she corrected herself—had negotiated a surprisingly favorable agreement for his wife. The property remained in her name, she retained control of her dowry, and there were specific clauses about mutual consent for major decisions.
Progressive for a fantasy romance novel. Almost suspiciously so.
Rachel flipped to the signature page and froze.
There, in cramped handwriting at the bottom, was a notation she almost missed: Negotiated and approved by the Office of Matrimonial Contracts, Royal Judiciary, Third Circuit.
She grabbed another document. Then another. Every single marriage contract bore the same stamp, the same office notation.
There was already a legal framework for marriage in this world. It wasn't just religious ceremony and romantic destiny. There were actual courts, actual bureaucracy, actual contracts that could theoretically be challenged.
The system existed. It was just being ignored in favor of the prettier narrative about eternal love and divine blessing.
Rachel felt a familiar fire kindle in her chest. This was the feeling she got right before she tore apart a case that everyone else thought was unwinnable. The feeling that came from seeing the crack in the foundation that no one else had noticed.
She pulled out a fresh sheet of paper and began making notes. The Office of Matrimonial Contracts appeared to be a subsection of the Royal Judiciary, which meant it operated under civil law rather than religious authority. That was significant. The Temple of Divine Order might perform the ceremonies and bless the unions, but the actual legal binding was done through secular courts.
Which meant there was precedent for secular intervention in marriages.
Rachel worked through the stack methodically, categorizing documents by type and noting patterns. Inheritance law gave wives surprisingly robust protections if they were widowed. Property law allowed for separate ownership of assets brought into the marriage. There were even provisions for financial support if a husband was deemed "incapacitated or absent" for more than two years.
The legal infrastructure was there. Someone, at some point in this empire's history, had built in protections for women. They'd just been buried under centuries of romantic ideology and religious doctrine.
A knock interrupted her thoughts.
"I said no callers," Rachel called out, not looking up from a particularly dense property dispute resolution.
The door opened anyway.
The man who entered was tall enough that he had to duck slightly through the doorframe, with dark hair that looked like it had been styled by someone who understood the concept of "artfully tousled" and shoulders that suggested he either worked out or had very good genetics. His clothes were expensive but understated—deep blue velvet coat, silver buttons, boots polished to a mirror shine.
He was also holding a bouquet of white roses and looking at her with an expression of careful concern that immediately set off alarm bells.
Rachel's mind rifled through Seraphina's hazy memories and came up with a name: Lord Erik Ashworth. Her older brother.
"Sera," he said gently, closing the door behind him. "The maid said you were asking for legal documents. I was worried."
"I'm fine." Rachel set down the contract she'd been reading. "Just curious about something."
Erik crossed the room and set the roses on her vanity, then turned to face her with the kind of serious expression that meant an Uncomfortable Conversation was imminent. "You fainted yesterday. In front of half the nobility. Because you saw Thorne with his fiancée."
Thorne. Duke Thorne Ravenswood, the male lead of this nightmare. Possessive, controlling, and convinced that locking women in towers was a valid expression of affection.
"I'm over it," Rachel said flatly.
Erik's eyebrows rose. "Over it. You've been in love with Thorne since you were twelve years old."
"Well, I'm not twelve anymore." Rachel stood and walked to the window, putting distance between them. "I had a moment of weakness yesterday. It passed. Now I'm interested in other things."
"Such as marriage law?"
"Such as marriage law."
Her brother studied her with an expression she couldn't quite read. There was concern there, yes, but also something sharper. Intelligence. Erik wasn't just a pretty face in expensive clothes—Seraphina's memories suggested he was one of the few people in her life who actually paid attention to her.
Which made him potentially dangerous to her plans.
"Sera, I know you're hurting, but becoming a bluestocking isn't going to make Thorne jealous."
Rachel turned to face him. "I'm not trying to make anyone jealous. I'm trying to educate myself."
"On marriage law."
"Why?"
Because she was going to dismantle the entire romantic industrial complex of this world one divorce at a time, but she couldn't exactly say that. Rachel opted for a version of the truth.
"Because I read Mother and Father's contract, and I realized I don't actually know anything about how marriages work in this empire. The legalities, I mean. Everyone talks about divine blessings and eternal bonds, but what does that actually mean in practice? What happens if a marriage fails? What are the options?"
Erik's expression shifted from concern to something more complicated. He sat down on the edge of her bed, careful not to disturb the scattered documents. "Marriages don't fail, Sera. That's the point. The divine blessing ensures compatibility."
"But what if it doesn't? What if two people are genuinely miserable together?"
"Then they learn to be less miserable. Marriage is a sacred duty, not a temporary arrangement."
Rachel felt her jaw tighten. This was the party line, the narrative that kept people trapped. "And if one person is being hurt?"
"Hurt how?"
"Any way. Physically. Emotionally. Financially."