Cassian Marcellus rubbed his temples, the weight of a burgeoning headache already settling in. Across the library’s gleaming mahogany table, Alessia lounged with infuriating poise, flipping through a stack of letters with the precision of a magistrate dispensing justice. Her emerald-green gown shimmered in the sunlight pouring through the stained-glass windows, as did the wicked glint in her eyes.

"This is madness," Cassian muttered, staring at the long parchment she’d slid across to him. “Are you serious? I have a meeting every single day for the next three weeks?”

“Oh, don’t be so dramatic, dear brother,” Alessia replied, her tone dripping with false sympathy. “Two days have double appointments, but only because Lady Mariette insisted on tea and a walk in the gardens. It would’ve been rude to refuse.”

Cassian leaned back, glaring at the ceiling as if it might grant him escape. “I’d rather be in the kitchen peeling potatoes with Seraphina than subject myself to this.”

“That could be arranged,” Alessia said sweetly, sliding another letter in front of him. “Although I’m not sure Seraphina would appreciate your sulking.” She paused, tilting her head in mock thought. “And speaking of vegetables, did you know Lady Amelisse has the conversational range of a turnip? But, oh! Her dowry could buy a fleet of ships, so maybe you’ll learn to enjoy her riveting thoughts on embroidery.”

Cassian groaned, rubbing his face with both hands. “Alessia, this is absurd. I’m not prepared for—”

“You’re not prepared?” Alessia cut in, her tone both incredulous and teasing. “Darling Cassian, you’ve spent years learning diplomacy and trade negotiation. How hard can it be to nod along while some girl prattles about her favorite shade of ribbon?”

Cassian dropped his hands, glaring at her. “Why don’t you do this, then? You’re so good at charming people.”

Alessia’s laughter rang out, light and melodic. “Oh, Cassian, if only it were that simple. But no one’s lining up to propose to me. Charles, however? A whole different story.” She reached for the next letter, holding it up like a prize. “Now, let’s see. Ah, Lady Vivienne. She’s been to three finishing schools, speaks five languages fluently, and her father owns half the mines in the north...”

Cassian’s brow furrowed, and he slammed his palm against the table. “Wait—what do you mean Charles?”

Alessia’s green eyes sparkled with mischief as she leaned forward. “Oh, didn’t I mention? The invitations are all for Charles.”

“What?!” Cassian’s voice rose with indignation, his chair scraping noisily against the marble floor as he stood. “Then why am I the one who has to attend these farcical meetings?”

“Well,” Alessia began, clearly relishing every moment of his outrage, “you see, custom dictates that families can’t specifically name which son they’re inviting. It would be unbecoming.” She smirked. “That little technicality lets us conveniently substitute you in Charles’s place. Isn’t that clever?”

Cassian opened his mouth to argue, but words failed him. He stared at her in open-mouthed disbelief, his hands gesturing futilely in the air. “That’s… ridiculous. Absurd! They’re not even interested in me!”

“True,” Alessia agreed cheerfully, sitting back in her chair. “But they’ll pretend to be. And you’ll smile, make polite conversation, and do your duty for the family. You should feel honored.”

“Honored?!” Cassian’s voice cracked, his composure slipping further. “This is humiliating! I’m supposed to parade around like some stand-in suitor while they pine after Charles?”

“Not just parade,” Alessia corrected, her tone as sweet as honey. “You’re also a very convenient buffer. That’s why Mother came up with the plan. We’ll be telling everyone that House Marcellus has a very firm policy: no younger sibling can marry until the eldest is wed. So,” she gestured at him with an exaggerated flourish, “you get to soak up all the attention while Charles focuses on his training in peace.”

Cassian stared at her, his face a mask of pure outrage. “You’ve got to be kidding me. This isn’t just humiliating; it’s cruel! You’re setting me up to meet girls who aren’t even remotely interested in me! They’re after Charles, and we all know it.”

“Oh, Cassian.” Alessia tilted her head, her expression positively radiant with mock sympathy. “You make it sound so tragic. Who knows? Maybe one of them will fall for your brooding charm.”

He pointed a finger at her. “You’re enjoying this far too much.”

“Of course I am,” she replied without hesitation. “Seeing you squirm like this is an absolute delight.”

Cassian threw his hands in the air, his patience officially depleted. “I’d rather go on a pilgrimage and be a monk than endure this circus!”

Alessia’s smile slipped, replaced by a stern expression that somehow managed to look even more condescending. “Enough of that nonsense. This is your duty to the family, Cassian. Do you have any idea how much pressure Charles is under already? He doesn’t need simpering debutantes distracting him while he’s training. You’re stepping in to protect him—and our family’s reputation.”

Cassian’s jaw tightened as he looked away, his fists clenched at his sides. “Protecting the family’s reputation by making a fool of myself. Wonderful.”

“Oh, don’t be so dramatic,” Alessia said, her playful tone returning. She leaned over to pat his arm, clearly enjoying the effect her words had on him. “You’ll survive. Besides, think of it as a learning opportunity. Maybe one of them will even take a liking to you. Stranger things have happened.”

Cassian let out a strangled groan, collapsing back into his chair. “This is going to be a disaster.”

“Possibly,” Alessia said brightly, her grin as sharp as a knife. “But at least it’ll be entertaining.”

Cassian slumped in his chair, his head resting heavily in his hands. After a long moment of internal fuming, he looked up at Alessia, his expression a mix of resignation and simmering frustration. “Fine,” he said, his voice clipped. “If I’m really supposed to endure this madness, then you—being the expert on social games—can start by explaining how I’m supposed to ‘woo’ someone.”

Alessia’s eyebrows shot up in mock surprise, and her lips curved into a devilish smile. “Oh, Cassian, are you asking for my help? How humbling. I might swoon from the shock.”

“Don’t push it,” Cassian growled. “You’re the one dragging me into this. The least you can do is tell me how to survive tonight’s dinner.”

“Well, if you insist.” Alessia leaned forward, resting her elbows on the table with the enthusiasm of a scholar preparing to lecture a particularly slow pupil. “Let’s start with your guest for this evening: Lady Selene of House Aurelion.”

“Great,” Cassian muttered, rubbing his temples. “What’s her deal?”

Alessia’s green eyes gleamed with barely concealed glee. “Lady Selene is a delightful enigma. She’s fond of poetry, particularly anything tragic. She’s often seen at salons quoting obscure verses about doomed love and existential despair.”

“Tragic poetry?” Cassian repeated, incredulous. “Wonderful. What else?”

“She’s also a dedicated harpist,” Alessia continued, ignoring his tone. “But don’t ask her to play in public—she’s terribly shy about performing in front of anyone she’s not intimately familiar with. And, oh!” Alessia leaned closer, lowering her voice conspiratorially. “Here’s the juicy bit: rumor has it she once fainted at a ball because someone complimented her too enthusiastically.”

Cassian blinked, his brow furrowing. “So… she likes poetry, is shy, and might faint if I say something nice? How am I supposed to navigate that?”

“That’s the easy part,” Alessia said with a saccharine smile. “Just show her how refined and sensitive you are. Recite something dark and brooding—you know, like that dreadful poem about the cursed knight wandering the wastelands. What was it called? The Lament of Ser Kevard. She’ll eat it up.”

Cassian grimaced. “You’re joking. That’s the most depressing thing I’ve ever read. It ends with the knight dying of thirst while hallucinating his dead lover in a puddle.”

“Exactly!” Alessia said, her tone bright. “It’s perfect.”

He gave her a long, suspicious look. “You’re not trying to make me look ridiculous, are you?”

“Of course not,” Alessia said with feigned innocence, placing a hand on her chest. “I would never dream of such a thing. Trust me, Cassian, this is what Lady Selene lives for. She’ll be positively enraptured.”

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Cassian’s skepticism lingered, but he reluctantly nodded. “Fine. Anything else I should know?”

“Hmm.” Alessia tapped her chin thoughtfully. “She has a peculiar habit of staring at people’s hands when she’s nervous. If that happens, just… make a dramatic gesture or something. It’ll show her you’re confident. Maybe clench your fist and look off into the distance, like you’re contemplating the weight of the world. Women love a brooding man.”

Cassian’s jaw tightened as he processed her advice. “Recite tragic poetry, clench my fist dramatically, and brood. Got it.”

Alessia beamed. “You’ll do wonderfully.”

As Cassian stood, preparing to leave the room, Alessia called after him, her voice laced with mock encouragement. “Remember, dear brother, it’s all about setting the mood. Oh, and maybe wear a darker doublet tonight—it’ll complement your ‘tragic hero’ persona.”

Cassian shot her a glare over his shoulder but said nothing, leaving Alessia to stifle her laughter behind a delicate hand. She couldn’t wait to hear how this would unfold.

---

Cassian trudged into the kitchen, his shoulders slumped and his expression dark as storm clouds. The soft clatter of pots and the warm, buttery aroma of freshly baked bread barely registered with him. Seraphina, wiping her hands on a flour-dusted apron, glanced up from her work and grinned at the sight of his miserable face.

“Well, don’t you look like you’ve been put through a wringer,” she said, leaning against the counter. “How’d the big date go?”

Cassian collapsed onto a stool, letting his head fall into his hands. “It was a disaster.” His voice was muffled but heavy with frustration.

Seraphina chuckled, sliding a mug of spiced cider in front of him. “That bad, huh? Come on, spill it. What happened?”

He groaned, running a hand through his hair. “Where do I even start? Alessia said Lady Selene loves tragic poetry, so I recited The Lament of Ser Kevard during dinner. I thought I was doing great, but then she just... stared at me. Didn’t say a word for almost a full minute.”

Seraphina’s eyebrows shot up. “The Lament of Ser Kevard? The one where the knight dies hallucinating a puddle? At dinner? Good gods, Cassian, you might as well have read her an elegy for dessert.”

“That’s what I thought,” Cassian said, throwing up his hands. “But Alessia swore it would impress her! She said it was ‘perfect.’”

Seraphina pressed her lips together, fighting the urge to laugh outright. “And... what else did you do?”

Cassian hesitated, a faint flush creeping up his neck. “Well… Alessia also said that when Selene gets nervous, she stares at people’s hands. She told me to make a dramatic gesture to show confidence, so I clenched my fist and stared off into the distance, like I was ‘contemplating the weight of the world.’”

That did it. Seraphina doubled over with laughter, clutching the edge of the counter for support. “You—oh, Cassian—you did that in front of her? By the stars, no wonder she didn’t know what to say!”

“It’s not funny,” Cassian grumbled, scowling. “I followed everything Alessia told me. I even wore a dark doublet to look more ‘tragic.’ She said it would make me seem mysterious.”

Seraphina wiped a tear from her eye, her laughter finally subsiding. “Oh, Cassian, I hate to break it to you, but your sister’s playing you like a fiddle.”

Cassian blinked, his expression twisting in confusion. “What? No, Alessia was trying to help—she gave me all that information about Selene’s habits.”

“Oh, I’m sure she did,” Seraphina said, her grin widening. “But I’d bet my best soufflé that she’s having a grand old time sabotaging you.”

“What?!” Cassian’s indignation flared, but Seraphina only waved a hand to cut him off.

“Relax, big guy. It’s not the end of the world. In fact, I think it’s a blessing in disguise.”

“A blessing?” Cassian crossed his arms, glaring. “How is being humiliated a blessing?”

“Because,” Seraphina said, leaning forward with a conspiratorial wink, “now you can stop trying to be someone you’re not. Look, you’re not a tragic poet or a brooding hero. And honestly? That’s a good thing. Women don’t need all that nonsense. They want someone real.”

Cassian frowned, doubt written all over his face. “Real? What’s that even mean?”

“It means you should stop pretending,” Seraphina said, handing him a fresh roll slathered with butter. “You’ve got good traits, Cassian—ones that aren’t fake or forced. You’re steady, dependable, and you’ve got a sharp wit when you’re not trying to impress someone. Focus on that.”

Cassian took a bite of the roll, chewing thoughtfully. “You really think that’ll work?”

“I know it will,” Seraphina said confidently. “Next time, skip the tragic verses and tell her about the time you bargained a caravan of silks for double its worth. Or how you handled those council negotiations when Adrian was off chasing some new spice shipment. Show her the parts of you that matter.”

Cassian glanced at her, a flicker of hope in his eyes. “So… just be myself?”

“Exactly,” Seraphina said, tapping his arm. “Trust me, Cassian. You’re plenty interesting without Alessia’s dramatics. And if you do manage to pull it off, well...” She grinned wickedly. “Just think of the look on your sister’s face when you succeed despite her sabotage.”

Cassian snorted, a faint smile breaking through his dejection. “That might just be worth it.”

“There’s the spirit!” Seraphina said, clapping him on the back. “Now go get some rest. Tomorrow’s another day—and another girl, I’m guessing?”

Cassian sighed but nodded. “Unfortunately.”

Seraphina chuckled. “Good. More chances for me to watch the fun.”

---

Cassian pushed open the doors to the family library, the room bathed in the soft golden glow of late evening. He looked… different. His posture was straight, his expression pensive but tinged with something softer—an unfamiliar vulnerability that didn’t quite fit his usual stoic demeanor.

He found Lyra curled up on one of the plush green armchairs near the fireplace, a book in her lap and a shawl draped over her shoulders. She looked up when he entered, her auburn curls catching the firelight. “Cassian?” she asked, her voice laced with curiosity. “You’re back earlier than I expected. How did it go?”

Cassian hesitated, running a hand through his hair as he moved to sit in the armchair opposite her. “It went... well,” he admitted, though his tone carried a strange weight. “Vivienne was… incredible, honestly. Smart, charming, quick-witted. We spent most of the evening debating trade policies—she actually knows her stuff.”

Lyra raised an eyebrow, a small smile tugging at her lips. “Sounds like you met your match.”

“That’s the problem,” Cassian said, leaning back with a sigh. “She was perfect. We connected. It felt like we understood each other in a way I didn’t think was possible with all of… this.” He gestured vaguely, encompassing the Marcellus name, the responsibilities, and the absurd matchmaking attempts.

Lyra’s smile faltered. “Then why do you look like you lost a game of cards to Charles?”

“Because,” Cassian said quietly, his gaze fixed on the flickering flames, “at the end of the night, she told me it didn’t matter. Her father has ‘greater plans’ for her. She doesn’t get a say.”

Lyra’s shoulders slumped, and she closed her book, setting it aside. “I’m sorry, Cassian. That’s... awful.”

He shook his head, forcing a weak smile. “It’s not her fault. She was honest with me, at least. Said she wishes things could be different. But that doesn’t change the fact that she’s just as trapped by her family’s ambitions as I am by ours.”

Lyra was silent for a moment, watching her brother with an intensity that bordered on discomfort. Finally, she said, “I know what that feels like.”

Cassian looked at her, his brow furrowing. “What do you mean?”

Lyra hesitated, her hands twisting in her lap. “You know what Mother and Father expect of me. I’m supposed to be the perfect little Marcellus jewel. Always smiling, always charming, always ready to play my part in securing an alliance for the family. But…” She trailed off, her voice faltering.

“But what?” Cassian prompted gently.

She met his eyes, her own glistening with unshed tears. “But I don’t want to be a pawn. I want to marry someone who sees me, not just my name or my dowry or what I can bring to the family. And the worst part is… I feel guilty for even wanting that. For wishing for something so selfish when I know how much rides on all of us doing our part.”

Cassian’s chest tightened as her words sank in. He’d never considered just how much weight Lyra carried beneath her delicate, cheerful exterior. “Lyra…”

She sniffed, brushing a tear away with the back of her hand. “It’s fine. I’ll do what’s expected of me. I always do. But hearing you talk about Vivienne…” She shook her head, a sad smile playing on her lips. “I guess I hoped, for a moment, that one of us girls could break free of all this. That at least one of us could choose.”

Cassian leaned forward, his elbows resting on his knees. “I’m sorry, Lyra. I’ve been so caught up in my own mess that I didn’t realize you had it worse.”

She gave a soft laugh, though it was devoid of humor. “That’s the Marcellus way, isn’t it? We all carry our burdens in silence because that’s what’s expected.”

“Well,” Cassian said, a steely determination creeping into his voice, “maybe we don’t have to. I’m your brother, Lyra. I’ll fight for you if you need me to. And if that means finding a way to give you the choice you deserve… I’ll try.”

Lyra shook her head, her auburn curls catching the firelight. Her voice was steady now, though her gaze remained fixed on the flickering flames. “Cassian, I made my choice a long time ago. I’m going to do what’s best for the family. Not because I’m forced to, but because it’s what I want. My part in this… it matters.”

Cassian frowned, his brow furrowed. “But you shouldn’t have to sacrifice everything, Lyra. You’re more than just—”

“A pawn?” Lyra interrupted gently, her lips curving into a faint, almost wistful smile. “Maybe. But even pawns have their roles. If moving forward means securing alliances or protecting what we have, then I’ll do it. It’s not weakness to accept responsibility, Cassian. It’s strength.”

Cassian stared at her, taken aback. “I never thought of it that way.”

Lyra turned to him, her green eyes bright with determination. “You don’t have to break free to make a difference. Sometimes, the strongest thing you can do is lean into the storm and bend without breaking. I might not get to choose who I marry, but I can choose how I make it work. I can choose to find happiness in it, in my own way.”

Cassian was quiet for a long moment, her words sinking in deeper than he expected. Finally, he said, “You’re stronger than I gave you credit for, Lyra. A lot stronger.”

She smiled, reaching out to squeeze his hand. “And so are you, Cassian. I know tonight didn’t go the way you hoped, but that doesn’t mean you should give up on love. You have a chance to show people who you really are. And if Vivienne isn’t the one, maybe someone else will be.”

“Maybe,” he said, though his tone was tinged with doubt.

Lyra’s hand tightened around his. “No ‘maybe’ about it. You’ll find someone who sees you for who you are, just like I will. And when that happens, we’ll both make this family stronger—not because we have to, but because we chose to.”

Cassian smiled at her, warmth spreading through his chest. “Thanks, Lyra. I needed that.”