The letter arrived in elegant cursive, sealed with the Elwood family crest. Marcus read it in silence, his expression somewhere between exhausted and resigned.

  Candy, watching him from across the table, sighed. “What now?”

  Marcus exhaled, setting the letter down. “My parents want to meet you.”

  Candy blinked. “Wait. What?”

  Marcus looked up slowly. “They want us to meet them out at the estate this weekend. They’d like to host dinner. Or tea. Something formal.”

  Candy stared at him, confused for a beat. “But... I’ve met your parents. Many times. I had the King’s Day Feast at their estate three years ago. Your mom made me sit next to your uncle who talked about taxes for four hours.” There was a pause. Then the realization hit her.

  “Oh,” she said quietly. “Right. Cameron met them.” Marcus winced. “Marcus,” she said, voice suddenly sharp. “Do they not know I’m me?”

  He shifted in his chair, rubbing the back of his neck. “Not exactly. All they were told is that I was assigned a wife. A wayward, unmarried woman of age. Cssified as unruly and pced in my household for... taming.”

  Candy’s mouth dropped open. “Taming? You let them think I’m just some random trouble-girl the court dumped on your doorstep like a sack of disobedient potatoes?”

  Marcus looked extremely uncomfortable. “It was easier. Legally speaking, you’re... not supposed to be anyone else anymore.”

  Candy stared at him, then leaned back in her chair and let out a dry ugh. “So let me guess. Your mom wants to make sure I can make scones and curtsy like a good little bride. And your dad probably wants to make sure you’ve, what, tamed me?” Marcus winced again. “Spanking included, I’m guessing?” she added, voice ft.

  “They are traditional,” he mumbled. Candy closed her eyes and muttered, “I need more bathhouse in my life.”

  The week rolled along and the night before their departure Candy stared as Marcus patted his thigh.

  “I’m sorry, what?” she asked, arms crossed tightly over her chest.

  “You heard me,” Marcus replied, seated on the edge of the bed like a weary judge. “It’s happening tonight.”

  “It’s three days early,” Candy snapped.

  “I know.”

  “You’ve never done one early before.”

  “I know.”

  “Marcus,” she said slowly, “expin before I start throwing things.”

  Marcus ignored the threat but answered, “We’re going to my parents tomorrow and if you act up in front of my father, and I have to tell him you haven’t had your maintenance yet this week, he will insist on handling it right then and there.” Candy stopped pacing. Marcus looked up, serious now. “In front of everyone. He’ll offer critique. Technique. Form. Possibly a lecture.”

  There was a long, horrible silence.

  Candy’s jaw moved, but no words came out at first. Then, finally, “You’re not joking.”

  “I wish I was,” Marcus said grimly.

  “Oh my god.” Candy's entire face twisted. “He would comment on your form? What does that even mean? Like, spanking technique?”

  Marcus nodded once. “Yes.”

  Candy blinked. “Like- ‘make sure you get under the lower curve for optimal submission’? That kind of thing?”

  “Worse.”

  “Oh gods.” Candy’s face went white. “Nope. Nope, nope, nope!” And then she dove across his p like she was escaping a burning building.

  Marcus gave a surprised grunt. “Well, that motivated you.”

  “Just do it. Put your palm on your feminized best friends plump womanly ass. Go ahead Elwood,” she said wiggling a bit, “this hot ass wont spank itself!”

  Marcus steadied his hand on her back. “You know I hate this too, you don’t have to make it even weirder for me.”

  “Eh, its always worse for me, so no compining,” she replied with a grin, which sted only until the first swat. Then she counted, every single one, because gods forbid his father ask about that detail too.

  Meet the Elwoods

  They traveled by carriage the next day. The trip took a little over an hour. The Elwood family home was a rge countryside estate, charming and well-maintained, with winding rose gardens and a picturesque white stone fa?ade. It was, in short, a perfect little fantasy of Paddlewick’s ideal domestic life.

  Marcus led her through the grand entryway, his grip firm on her hand, his jaw tight. Candy, in a ridiculous cream-colored gown, walked beside him, clenching her fists in the fabric of her skirt to keep from screaming.

  She had no idea what to expect. But whatever it was, she wasn’t ready.

  As the stepped out of the carriage a servant greeted them with a bow and ushered them into the main receiving hall. Lady Elwood, Marcus’s mother, a refined woman in her fifties with perfect posture and a gleaming smile appeared a moment ter, beaming in that perfect, cquered way noble mothers had. Her gown had so many pearls Candy half-expected it to rattle when she moved. "Oh, look at you!"

  Candy barely had time to react before Lady Elwood enveloped her in a warm embrace.

  "You are simply adorable!" she cooed, pulling back to study Candy’s face. "Such a delicate little thing. Oh, Marcus, I’m so proud of you!"

  Marcus looked like he wanted to crawl under a table and die.

  "Mother."

  Lady Elwood ignored him, turning back to Candy with bright, eager eyes.

  "Oh, Candy, you could be a model! If we just did something with your hair… well, I simply cannot wait to start training you!"

  Candy’s entire body tensed. She curtseyed, then asked "Training me?"

  Lady Elwood ughed sweetly.

  "Oh, of course, darling! That curtsey for example needs work. But anyway, every new wife needs guidance. Cooking, embroidery, proper posture, the best ways to keep a home, and, of course, all the little wifely duties that make a marriage truly fulfilling!."

  Candy’s stomach turned.

  "That’s… generous," she managed.

  "Nonsense!" Lady Elwood patted her hand. "It’s a wife’s duty to ensure the next generation of brides are prepared. Why, my mother trained me just the same! And I expect you’ll pass these lessons to your own daughter one day."

  Candy almost choked. Marcus coughed violently. Lady Elwood beamed.

  "Now, come! I must show you my collection cookbooks. And, oh! Have you started knitting yet? Every wife should be able to knit a decent pair of socks!"

  Candy gnced at Marcus, her eyes screaming: Help. Me.

  Marcus offered a weak shrug.

  "Good luck."

  Candy gred.

  Marcus fled.

  The Kitchen Incident

  The Elwood estate kitchen was rge, spotless, and intimidating. Rows of copper pans gleamed from overhead racks, and a trio of uniformed cooks moved silently in the background like judgmental ghosts. Lady Elwood, in a perfectly starched apron with ce cuffs, stood beside Candy with the confidence of a woman who could peel judgment from a turnip.

  “We’ll begin with a simple herb-roasted hen,” she said briskly. “Something all wives should know how to prepare. I’ll manage the stuffing, you’ll handle the seasoning.”

  Candy squared her shoulders. How hard could it be? She opened the spice cabinet with purpose, took one look inside… and felt instantly betrayed.

  Neatly beled jars lined the shelves: sage, rosemary, thyme, garlic salt, white pepper, and a few exotic ones like tarragon and mace.

  She blinked. “Huh. No cayensinia?”

  Lady Elwood frowned. “The what?”

  “Cayensinia. You know. It’s like cinnamon, but... spicier. From that isnd. I think.” She nodded with mispced confidence.

  Lady Elwood’s lips parted in gentle arm. “Do you mean cayenne pepper?”

  “Oh, maybe? Is that the one that looks like red dust? Kind of tastes like regret?”

  “That would be paprika.”

  “Oh. Right. That’s what I meant. Papriquai.”

  Lady Elwood gently reached into the cabinet and handed her a jar. “Here. Use this.”

  Candy took it with a grateful smile, then scanned the shelf again.

  “Do you not carry bergamot powder?”

  Lady Elwood blinked. “That’s… a tea, dear. Not a seasoning.”

  Candy frowned. “What about Valencia? Or, uh, Portomira?”

  Lady Elwood tilted her head. “Those are cities.”

  “Okay,” Candy muttered, “well someone used them in a recipe once.”

  “Was it… a travel brochure?”

  Undeterred, Candy reached for something beled marjoram, paused, then whispered, “Is this a cheese?”

  “No,” Lady Elwood said gently. “That’s a herb.”

  Candy sighed. “They really should color-code these things.”

  Lady Elwood gave a patient smile that very nearly covered her growing concern.

  Together, they buttered the bird while Lady Elwood offered precise, efficient instructions—most of which Candy promptly fumbled. She dropped a whole sprig of rosemary down the colr of her dress, accidentally salted the inside of the oven, and referred to a bay leaf as “kitchen paper.”

  By the time the hen went into the oven, Lady Elwood looked… tired.

  Candy wiped her hands on her apron, then turned to her mentor with forced cheer. “Well, that didn’t go completely wrong.”

  “No,” Lady Elwood said with surprising restraint. “But I’ll have a backup roast prepared... just in case.”

  The Father-In-Law: A Firm Hand

  After lunch Lady Elwood brought Candy to the drawing room for “refinement hour.”

  “We’ll begin with curtseying,” she said, adjusting Candy’s posture with light tugs on her sleeves.

  Candy curtsied again.

  “No, dear. Too fast. It should look like you’re folding into gratitude, not dodging arrows.”

  Candy tried again.

  “Better. But less... scowling.”

  “This is my default expression now,” Candy muttered.

  “I see.” Lady Elwood didn’t look up from her embroidery. “Marcus did say you were high-spirited. No matter. There are... ways.”

  Candy nearly asked which ways, then wisely chose silence.

  While Candy was in the kitchen liberally seasoning a raw hen with what she thought was thyme but was, in fact, crushed vender sachet crumbs, Marcus had been called into the formal study for a meeting with his father.

  Lord Reginald Elwood was a man of Paddlewickian tradition.

  He greeted Marcus with a firm handshake and studied him with that quietly judgmental, pride-polished gaze that seemed passed down through Elwood generations like a good cane.

  “Son,” he said, giving a single nod. “Good to see you.”

  “Father,” Marcus replied stiffly, returning the nod.

  They sat.

  Reginald wasted no time.

  “She’s spirited,” he said.

  Marcus fought the urge to sigh. “She’s adjusting.”

  Reginald leaned back. “That kind of spirit can be refined. But only with vigince. Discipline. Repetition.”

  “I understand.”

  “I hope so. Big work lies ahead.”

  Marcus blinked. “Big work?”

  Reginald steepled his fingers. “That girl wasn’t raised in a proper household. You’ll have to mold her from the ground up. She speaks out. She questions. She... salts the cavity.”

  Marcus frowned. “You watched her cook?”

  “Enough to know your mother stepped in. Quietly.” He folded his arms. “Your wife is attractive, son. Bellfemme Pin-Up level beauty, but if she doesn’t become manageable, beauty will be no shield. You’re not creating a showpiece. You’re building a foundation.”

  Marcus said nothing.

  There was no point.

  Reginald gave one final nod and stood. “Keep her steady. Don’t let grace slip into cleverness. That’s how marriages unravel.”

  And just like that, the meeting was over.

  The Dinner Table

  The Elwood dining hall was formal enough to cause indigestion. Heavy silverware. Starched napkins. A chandelier so rge it might have been sentient. Marcus and Candy sat side by side across from Lord and Lady Elwood, with a parade of footmen rotating dishes in and out like well-trained ghosts.

  The roasted hen was pced at the center of the table, golden and glistening under the candlelight.

  Lady Elwood beamed. “Well, let’s see what our dear Candy has accomplished today.” Candy sat taller. She caught Marcus flinching out of the corner of her eye but said nothing. Lord Elwood carved with the precision of a military commander. He served slices with grave ceremony, then took his first bite.

  A pause.

  He chewed slowly, thoughtfully.

  Candy held her breath.

  He swallowed.

  “Hm.”

  Lady Elwood dabbed her lips. “Delicate seasoning. Moist interior. Good bance of crisp and tender.”

  Marcus quietly cleared his throat and reached for his wine.

  Candy allowed herself a victorious little smile. “Not bad for someone who didn’t know what Papriquai is!” Lord Elwood’s gaze flicked toward her. Candy smiled sweetly and added, “Turns out I’m a fast learner.”

  There was a subtle, audible tension in the room, like a piano string tuned just a little too tight. Marcus, halfway through his wine, didn’t breathe. Lord Elwood set his fork down.

  “She is spirited,” he said, looking directly at Marcus. “That much is clear.”

  Marcus nodded once. “She’s improving.”

  “Then improve her faster,” Lord Elwood said ftly. “Discipline must be regur. Consistent. You should be giving her extra maintenance, at least twice a week, three, ideally, until the sharpness rounds off.”

  Candy’s fork paused mid-air.

  Lady Elwood sipped delicately from her gss. “I find short, sharp corrections in the morning work wonders. Before the day has time to wander.”

  Marcus looked like he was calcuting how fast they could leave without vioting etiquette.

  Lord Elwood leaned back, folding his arms. “The sooner she learns that your word is w, the sooner she’ll stop trying to step around it.”

  Candy set her fork down, slowly.

  “I’m sitting right here, you know,” she said softly.

  Lord Elwood’s gaze did not waver. “Yes. I know.”

  Marcus reached under the table and gently tapped her knee. A silent warning.

  Candy took a deep breath and reached for her wine. “Then I’ll toast to improved taming,” she muttered, raising her gss with a cool smile.

  Lady Elwood smiled serenely. “There’s hope for her yet.”

  By the end of the night, Candy’s back ached from posture lessons. Her hands smelled like lemon and raw poultry. She’d nearly tripped during curtsy practice, and one of the kitchen staff had pulled her aside and whispered, “They made me kneel once to prove obedience. Just cry early. It goes faster.”

  As she sat in the guest bedroom they’d been given, small, neat, and devoid of anything comforting, Candy curled into a chair near the window. Marcus joined her a moment ter, pouring two small gsses of fortified wine. He handed her one without a word. She took it. They drank in silence.

  After a long pause, Candy muttered, “So. How’d I do?”

  Marcus looked at her sideways. “Better than I expected.”

  “High praise,” she deadpanned. “My hands only shook twice. I only asked for a spice that turned out to be a fishing vilge once.”

  “You asked for Valdora. That’s a province.”

  “It sounded tasty.”

  Marcus gave a low chuckle into his wine. “Still. You held it together.”

  Candy raised her gss. “May tomorrow contain fewer poultry-based moral lessons.”

  “No promises.”

  She didn’t ugh, but her mouth twitched.

  Then she sat up straighter. “Also, I think the hen turned out great, if I do say so myself.”

  Marcus’s eyes flicked toward the fire. She missed the look.

  “I mean, I managed not to poison anyone, and the skin got a little crispy, which I’m calling a win.”

  He sipped his wine. “A real win.”

  She beamed faintly. “Tell your mother to admit defeat. Candy Elwood can roast a bird.”

  He made a quiet sound of agreement and did not, under any circumstances, mention that Lady Elwood had quietly swapped out Candy’s hen with a backup the moment her back was turned.

  Candy went to bed that night proud of her “triumph,” completely unaware.

  No one had the heart to tell her.

  The next day, as Marcus and his father fixed a loose wheel on the carriage, Lady Elwood sat Candy down at a mirrored vanity so ornate it looked like a wedding cake had decided to become furniture.

  “Your hair,” she said, combing through it with practiced ease, “is passable. But it cks discipline.”

  Candy raised an eyebrow in the mirror. “It’s hair. Not a guard dog.”

  Lady Elwood gave a smile that was equal parts amused and terrifying. “Everything reflects the household. Even your parting.”

  She brushed, sectioned, and twisted with methodical care. Pins flew like surgical tools. Her hands never hesitated. At one point she sighed and muttered, “Your crown posture is pulling to the left, your spines a bit out of alignment.”

  Candy opened her mouth to argue. Lady Elwood inserted a pin so firmly that Candy forgot what she was going to say. Twenty minutes ter, Lady Elwood stepped back. Candy blinked.

  The reflection in the mirror was... breathtaking.

  Her hair had been woven into a soft, elegant crown braid with just enough looseness to look effortless. A few face-framing curls had been pinned delicately at her temples. She looked, there was no getting around it, refined.

  She barely recognized herself.

  “I look like someone who drinks tea correctly,” she muttered.

  Lady Elwood smiled, genuinely this time. “You look like an Elwood.”

  And for just a moment... that didn’t feel like an insult.

  Candy retreated to the hallway mirror after her “beautification session,” mostly to count the number of pins still holding her scalp together. It had to be close to forty. Maybe fifty. One of them had definitely been inserted as a personality adjustment.

  She leaned in to inspect a curl that had come loose at her temple.

  Without thinking, she reached up and gently tucked it back into pce, fingers smoothing the shape automatically.

  She blinked.

  Then scowled.

  Then yanked her hand down like it had committed treason.

  “Oh no. No, no, no.” She pointed at the mirror. “We do not like this.”

  The reflection gave her a raised eyebrow in return.

  She gred at it.

  “Don’t look smug.”

  Marcus met her just outside the front sitting room. He was halfway through checking his cufflinks when he gnced up- and stopped walking. His gaze nded on her hair first. Then her face. Then the full effect. And his brain visibly paused. His mouth opened, but nothing came out.

  Candy cocked a hip and crossed her arms. “Say something.”

  “I... you...” He blinked. “You look...”

  “If you say ‘nice,’ I will throw a teacup.”

  Marcus cleared his throat and straightened his colr. “I was going to say staggering.”

  Candy’s eyebrow arched. “That good?”

  Marcus gave a helpless half-shrug. “That convincing. You look like a woman who could teach a course on decorative submissiveness and make it sound noble.”

  Candy snorted. “Good. Because I pn to lead with decorative submissiveness and end with casual violence.”

  “You’ll fit right in.” They stood in silence a moment longer.

  Then, softly, Marcus added, “Really, though... it’s beautiful.”

  Candy looked away. And hated how warm that made her feel.

  One Last Thing

  As the carriage was being readied for departure, Candy waited in the foyer, her gloved hands folded, posture perfect, hair still coiled like nobility had accepted her. Lady Elwood was busy instructing a footman on gift wrapping leftover pastries. Lord Elwood stood beside Marcus, issuing final reminders about managing discipline logs and maintaining “visual authority.”

  No one noticed Candy stepping just slightly to the left. There, on the wall beside the staircase, was a small framed embroidery piece. White lilies on pale blue linen. The stitching was perfect. The frame was polished. It read, in graceful script: Order is Beauty.

  Candy leaned forward and ever so gently nudged the bottom edge of the frame with one knuckle. It shifted. Not by much. ust enough that the left side was imperceptibly lower than the right. Not visible to the eye at first, but to a house like this? To this family?

  Oh, they’d feel it.

  They’d walk past it for days, sensing that something was... wrong. That something was not quite in its pce. And they would never be able to prove it.

  Candy smiled.

  “Ready?” Marcus asked, returning to her side.

  She turned, serene as a cathedral statue.

  “Ready.”

  The Elwoods stood on the front steps as the carriage was readied, perfectly framed by the tall marble columns and aggressively symmetrical hedges. Lady Elwood offered a serene smile as she reached for Candy’s hands.

  “It was lovely meeting you, my dear.”

  Candy opened her mouth, her instincts running just a half-step ahead of her brain. “It was lovely seeing you ag—”

  She stopped.

  Lady Elwood tilted her head politely.

  Candy smiled tightly and cleared her throat. “Meeting you. Yes. Of course. Thank you.”

  Marcus, standing nearby, blinked once in arm but said nothing.

  Lord Elwood nodded once, arms behind his back. “Carry on with structure. Structure makes for peace.”

  “We will,” Marcus said.

  Candy merely inclined her head.

  As the carriage pulled away, waving was expected. So they did. Candy kept hers small. Reserved. Marcus’s was barely more than a flick of his fingers.

  Back on the porch, Lord Elwood leaned slightly toward his wife and muttered, “You’ve got your work cut out for you, taming that one.”

  Lady Elwood sighed. “Poor thing tried to cook with cities.”

  Lord Elwood blinked. “What?”

  “Don’t ask.”

  They stood in silence a moment longer, watching the carriage disappear through the gates.

  “She’s pretty, though,” he said finally.

  Lady Elwood gave a small nod. “Yes. She is.”

  “A total knockout.”

  They both seemed relieved to find something agreeable.

  Then she frowned, gnced toward the foyer, and muttered, “Something’s off in that entryway.”

  He squinted. “Can’t put my finger on it.”

  Neither could she.

  The Ride Home

  The carriage wheels rumbled over the smooth stone road as the estate faded behind them. Candy sat back, arms crossed, expression unreadable.

  “So,” Marcus ventured after a long moment. “That went... better than expected?”

  Candy considered. “I didn’t get sent to a reformation hall. I didn’t spill tea on your mother. I only insulted their national spice rack once. So yeah, solid B-minus.”

  Marcus chuckled softly.

  “I still think the hen came out okay,” she added.

  Marcus hesitated. “Oh, yeah, it did.”

  Candy narrowed her eyes. “What.”

  “Nothing.”

  “You hesitated.”

  Marcus rubbed the back of his neck. “Sorry, just said to leave so soon, I guess.”

  “Oh, uh, sorry.” They rode in silence for a bit, the air warm and drowsy. Candy rested her head back against the seat cushion. “Your mom did my hair,” she said after a while. “It’s... really good.”

  Marcus looked over at her. “Yeah. I noticed. It’s gorgeous. You should probably learn a few hairstyles by the way.”

  “I already know two!”

  “Yeah I’m not a hair expert but I don’t think hair down by itself and hair down with a clip in it counts as two different style. But I could be wrong.”

  “Well when you magically grow hair down to the small of your back you can have a say,” Candy retorted.

  Marcus raised his hands, “Ok ok, my bad. Still, your hairs very pretty that way.”

  Candy didn’t say anything. She just looked away. And hated how warm that made her feel.

  Midnight Realizations

  Back at the estate, long after the servants had gone to bed, Lord Elwood shuffled down the hallway in his robe and slippers. He paused at the foyer, squinting at the wall. Something... something wasn’t right. But he couldn’t see it. He stepped forward, stared for a long, suspicious beat. Then huffed and walked on.

  In the kitchen, he opened the cold box and found the backup hen, wrapped in crisp cloth and sealed with a small wax token. Curiosity, or maybe hunger, got the better of him.

  He carved a small slice from the breast and took a bite. And immediately began coughing. Loud, uncontrolble wheezing filled the quiet kitchen.

  Upstairs, Lady Elwood sat up in bed and sighed. “You ate the wrong bird, didn’t you?”

  Lord Elwood’s voice echoed down the hall: “I think I’m dying!”