By the one hundred twenty-fourth Accord, Cassien had already gotten used to the order of events during the ten-day summit. The first two days were always hashing out disagreements between aristocrats, having the Imperial family be an impartial party and witness to all discussions. Houses were encouraged to join, to share opinions; but it felt more like a way to learn of gossip between families more than anything. By the third to fifth day, it was anything from trade agreements to writing off marriage proposals to secure ever growing estates and titled lords. His mother had nagged him to at least look at a few of the dozens of proposals he had already received to see their qualifications - given he was already at the engagement age of sixteen - but Cassian simply couldn’t care less. Few noble ladies possessed the qualities that would even meet his parents’ strict standards, and even fewer would want to live through the cold conditions of the far North. Most of the region was cold but well still inhabited, but the city of Elysiam was a different beast altogether that demanded resilience.

  The remainder of the summit existed to tie up any other loose ends and political strategy, something Duke Rivain had taken allowed Cassien to participate as a spectator. All of the lords welcomed him graciously, his growing reputation seemingly reaching even the far ears of a few southern lords who even acknowledged him. At his age, he already had countless wins from dueling tournaments and minor excursions for beast vanquishing; his frost magic had already even surpassed his father’s skill, an impressive feat. Cassien knew, though, that the main reason they all suckered up to him was because of his ranking as an heir to dukedom. Regardless of being a Northerner, his status commanded respect, and the power that he’d inherit someday was not an idle threat.

  Cassien lingered beside Lord Thom Paldarin, of whom he’d grown more familiar to through the last few Accords since they met two years ago. His curly brown hair had grown out to curl around his ears, and his height had sprouted to a respectable height. Thom’s face always had a shadow of thin facial hair no matter what, but his face still retained a rounded, youthful look despite being two years older. The two of them exchanged looks of boredom as an earl of the west declared a new betrothal to unite with a noble house of the north, while the gathering of people applauded politely at the announcement.

  “Have you had any offers yet?” Thom said without turning to Cassien, clapping politely.

  Cassien held back a heavy sigh as his mind flashed to stacks of letters on his desk back in Elysiam. “...I have not had the time to go through them.”

  “No time, or don’t care?,” Thom asked sarcastically as he playfully jabbed Cassien’s shoulder. “That’s what happens when you live the unfortunate life as a duke’s heir.”

  He shoved back with his shoulder, though not unkindly. “You?”

  Thom grinned boyishly as he plucked a fizzing drink from a passing servant. “Nothing as impressive. But I don’t have to be as selective as you, either.”

  Cassien didn’t answer. His gaze drifted around the ballroom where nobles began to mingle after the final announcement, some dancing and some approaching the balcony overseeing the back gardens. He watched like a stalking wolf among a crowd of sheep, his hands behind his back, shoulders squared like always. Such a reserved stance came so naturally to him, though he knew that to others, it only made him intimidating and unapproachable as they expected an heir of the cold to be.

  “See anyone you like?” Thom added, teasing.

  Cassien raised a brow. “You mean do I find any of them tolerable enough to endure a lifetime with? No.”

  Thom chuckled, but Cassien’s expression didn’t change as he continued. “I’m not here to indulge my mother’s list. I’m here because it’s expected of me.”

  “You speak like an old man,” Thom laughed as he sipped his champagne. “I’m just surprised with your rank, your parents haven’t set you up with anyone yet.”

  “...They have a semblance of respect for my boundaries. I think they can tell..”

  “That you’re not really a people person?”

  Cassien almost chuckled. “Yeah, exactly.”

  “Wish that were my parents. They’re threatening to take away my hunting privileges unless I start courting someone,” Thom sighed as if it were a chore, finishing the last of his drink. “Could be worse though. I could be engaged to someone from the South.”

  That got Cassien to exhale a chuckle. “Didn’t the Baron of Quinn marry a woman from Southern Ivor just last year?”

  “Yeah, and apparently they still don’t live together. North’s too cold, South’s too hot, the border in between is a minefield.”

  “You can thank House Rosenthorn for that,” Cassien said bitterly. “My father is supposed to be re-negotiating that right now, actually.”

  The two friends talked for a while longer in quiet mumbling before Thom departed to find the Marquis. Cassien made his own rounds of polite acknowledgements around the ballroom before he stopped to linger near the balcony doors. He leaned against a pillar with crossed arms, watching the crowd of nobles on the open balcony observing the night sky, misty with anticipated rain. The last of the fading orange orbs from Tudor’s annual lantern festival eclipsed into the darkness as dark clouds began to swirl above.

  He felt his father’s presence appear beside him, and Cassien turned with a questioning look. He was back from council sooner than expected.

  “I thought you were in talks with the Rosenthorns’,” Cassien asked.

  Duke Rivain suppressed an exasperated grunt. “Well, I’m sure you can guess how it went.”

  “What was it this time?”

  “That woman,” his father’s voice dripped with contempt at the thought of Duchess Rosenthorn. “Claimed the terms were ‘too generous’ for Rivain. They’d be willing to agree to an exchange of heavy metals but only if we build two alternate trade routes first, and expand the central path on our dime.”

  Unauthorized content usage: if you discover this narrative on Amazon, report the violation.

  “And what do they do? Sit back and relax?”

  “They generously offered to release one of our stone quarries back to us that got traded off during the Conquest,” his father replied sarcastically. “Damn your great grandfather for striking such a foolish deal.”

  The duke eyed Cassien’s scowling face. “I know what you’re thinking, but block it from your mind. Taking it back by force isn’t as easy as you think.”

  “Isn’t it?” Cassien replied smoothly, molding his face back to a neutral expression. “We have much stronger military firepower. We have more high ground advantage, and they wouldn’t last longer than a week even if they tried to retaliate into the north.”

  His father paused for several moments. “Do you know why your mother and I haven’t pushed you to begin courting?”

  “Because I hate people?”

  Though the Duke was shorter and had been frail as of late, he still smacked the upside of Cassien’s head with reasonable strength. “That much is clear, given your frigid reputation among the lords and ladies. No, try again.”

  Cassien thought for a moment before his jaw clicked in place. “You want me to marry into the South.”

  He took a deep breath. “The Rosenthorns-"

  “Father-”

  The Duke held his hand up to cut him off. “To be clear, it is not a ‘want’ of mine to see my own son marry into our rivals. Your mother and I would never force it, even if they somehow accepted such a proposal. The unfortunate reality is that not every marriage is for love, but for political strength. Whether us or Rosenthorn likes it or not, our families are among the most powerful available Houses’. And those songbirds are all about power and appearance.”

  Cassien folded his arms tighter, jaw clenched. “So I’m to be bartered off like one of our damn quarries?”

  “You’re not a pawn,” the Duke said evenly, “but you are a piece on the board.”

  Cassien ran a hand through his hair. “And if I refuse?”

  “I’m not going to punish you for wanting agency in your life,” the Duke said, his breath slowing. “But you’ll inherit a weaker realm without strong alliances. One day, your future child will hopefully inherit your magics. You may not want to play their ‘Game’, Cassien, but don’t forget they are already the masters at it.”

  “…I’m not marrying a Rosenthorn.”

  “I never said you would.” The Duke gave him a measured glance. “Only that you might find more value in alliance than in war.”

  “Ysonna Archfeld could be a possibility,” the Duke murmured after a beat. “At least she comes from the northern Marquis.”

  Cassien kept his voice neutral. “Didn’t realize you were already tallying the ladies.”

  His father grunted. “You should be.”

  Cassien patted his father’s shoulder, noticing the exhaustion slowly creeping forward. “Perhaps you should get some rest, father.”

  The past few years were unkind to the duke, with his health progressively worsening. His hair was more grey than black these days, and his body was becoming shrunken and feeble. Cassien had always been exceptionally strong and tall for his age, but next to the once combat renowned Duke, he completely towered over him. The trip to Tudor was exhaustive on his condition, and his mother was already considering cancelling their next Accord attendance so that the duke could rest. Though he didn’t like to think of it, Cassien knew he would soon have to step up to fill his father’s mantle, no matter how he personally felt about political dealings.

  “Trust in me,” Cassien continued in a quiet voice. “When it comes my time to handle these responsibilities, I will ensure the North’s best interests.”

  He felt a weak squeeze on his arm that caused a jab of pain in his heart. “I know you will. You’ve always made me proud.”

  Duke Rivain walked away with his chin held high back towards Duchess Rivain, who had just finished her own share of socializing. His parents nodded an acknowledgement to him before they began to excuse themselves from the rest of the night. Cassien strode out to the balcony, half-shielded by the colonnade, allowing himself a moment of respite in the cool dewey air. The rain came quickly like a curtain of silver that scattered rapidly on Calypsa Castle’s pristine marble architecture; all of the nobles scattered back inside to avoid soaking their expensive wardrobe. He was the only one who remained as he took another step forward, allowing the barest drizzle of refreshing rain to dot his face as he closed his eyes.

  He let out a deep breath as he tilted his head upwards at the darkened sky, filling his lungs with fresh air. He was now considered a man in society’s eyes, and with that came the looming future of overseeing his father’s legacy at any moment. Cassien didn’t like to dwell on upset feelings, much less his own - but in his bubble of privacy, he allowed himself a rare moment of grace.

  When he opened his eyes, his focus immediately shifted to a lone figure on an open terrace, their back turned to him. Even with the darkened moonlight and blur of rain, he recognized the shimmering silver of her hair immediately; and this time, he knew exactly who she was: Naomi Rosenthorn, daughter of the Duke of Monroe, stood alone on her room’s private terrace.

  After Cassien had seen her for the first time two years ago, he’d told himself it was nothing. Just a passing glance across the main chamber for less than a minute. And yet, he had noticed her. He noticed her again the next year too, and now again. The girl with warm moonlight hair and an aura of golden light that followed her everywhere. He hadn’t meant to ask about her the first time, but curiosity had a way of prying past his better judgment. He had approached his mother under the pretense of political learning.

  “Silver hair?” his mother had said with disdain, brows furrowed. “That’s the songbirds’ prized heir, Naomi Rosenthorn. Stay far away from her, Cassien.”

  The Duchess’s word was law, and at that moment something cold settled in his chest.

  A southern noble. Of course she was. And a Rosenthorn, no less.

  After that, he had made a point not to look again when the next Accord approached. Not to think about her, or remember the way she’d stood out like a soft breath of spring in a room full of blizzards. But the image of her clung stubbornly to the corners of his mind, reappearing in idle moments - displeasing him each time.

  Because every time she crept into his thoughts, she did so without permission.

  Cassien snapped back to the present as his eyes locked onto her figure, either involuntarily or reluctantly unable to look away. She moved slowly, the hem of her dress brushing the slick marble of the terrace railing. Her damp hair clung like silk to her shoulders, her ivory chiffon dress sheer with the wetness of the rain. In her hand, she held a pale blue parasol over the railing rather than herself, her exposed body shivering quietly in the cold. Perplexed, he mocked inwardly that perhaps southerners didn’t know how to properly shield themselves from the rain. Just as he was about to turn away, she shifted, revealing a nest in front. It was a bird’s nest, wedged precariously between two columns - soaked and nearly collapsed under the weight of the rain.

  He watched, bewildered, as she hunched over to angle the parasol over the nest, shielding it from the downpour. Her pose was sentinel and steady, her shoulders dampening by the second as she kept the nest dry.

  Cassien did not know how long he stood watching, before she drifted back into her quarters once the rain had stopped. His brow furrowed with confusion at why someone of her stature would bother with such a mundane thing, or why of all people, a southerner displayed such an act of compassion. He was even more confused why he stayed observing her for so long, as if he were in a desert and she was the approaching oasis rain.

  She didn’t act like someone trying to be seen. She acted like someone who could not bear to look away. He let out a single breath, and the foundation beneath his certainty cracked.