Ardin never answered Gelepttin's question.
Three days later, the answer still hadn't come. But a letter had.
It was waiting on his desk, already opened. No greeting. One line, in his father's handwriting.
House Marlowe celebrates an engagement. You will go in my place.
It was the longest conversation they'd had in a month.
"Warm man, your father," Gelepttin said from the pillow.
"He's busy."
"He's something."
Lucan came to see him off.
"A week away from this house," he said, straightening Ardin's collar the way he used to when they were children. "It will do you good."
He sounded like he meant it. Ardin no longer knew what to do with that.
He packed light. Clothes. A coat with a deep inner pocket.
"I am not luggage."
"You are exactly luggage."
And, without thinking, the old book from the bottom of his drawer. Worn cover. No title. No memory of where it came from. He never traveled without it, and had never once asked himself why.
Gelepttin watched him pack it and said nothing.
That was rare enough to be worrying.
House Marlowe was famous for its garden. The moment Ardin stepped into it, something in his chest went quiet. White flowers, everywhere.
He didn't know why gardens always did this to him.
"Lord Ardin Vale!"
Lord Cedric Ashbourne, the groom-to-be, crossed the path with open arms. Then he turned to the servant behind Ardin.
"And you must be Harrin. I heard you were ill last winter. Better now?"
Harrin nearly dropped the luggage.
Ardin had hoped to dislike the man. It would have been simpler.
Beside Cedric stood Lady Elise Marlowe, with a gentle, practiced smile. And two steps behind her, a knight. Straight back. Hand on his sword. Eyes forward.
A perfect knight.
Until Cedric said something, and Lady Elise laughed. A real laugh.
At that exact moment, the knight looked away. Only for a second. Toward the flowers.
Nobody noticed.
Ardin noticed.
That evening, he found the knight alone in the garden, kneeling by a flowerbed, tying a broken stem to a small wooden stick. His hands were far too gentle for a swordsman.
"The gardeners can do that," Ardin said.
The knight stood at once. "Forgive me, my lord. Sir Rowan Hale. My lady planted these herself as a child. I only... keep them standing."
"For how long?"
"Eleven years."
Silence.
"The wedding is in three weeks," Rowan said, though no one had asked. "I will escort her to Lord Cedric myself. He is a good man. The best I know."
He smiled.
"It is the greatest honor of my life."
Ardin had become something of an expert on lies lately.
This one was worse than his own.
The knight bowed and left. The flower stayed standing.
"No," said the coat.
"I haven't said anything."
"You have the face of a boy about to do something stupid. I know that face. I taught that face."
"He loves her."
"And she is promised to a man so kind he asked about your servant's health. There is no villain here, Ardin. No one to defeat."
"I know."
"So what exactly is your plan?"
Ardin looked at the white flower, held up by a stick and a piece of string.
"I don't have one yet."
A long, tired sigh.
"Forty-one times," Gelepttin muttered. "And still he never learns."