The Duke's Decision

“I think I'm going to talk to Lady Maude,” Althea said, staring up at the stars. “She'll come up with some way to make my family happy. I just want to go back home. This whole thing is too much, too fast, too strange.”

Helen sighed. The stars were bright, it was a warm summer's night, and she was lying out on the roof of the keep with her best friend, but it was hard for her to enjoy the moment when her best friend wasn't. She squeezed Althea's slender hand, her own fingers looking thick and stubby next to her brunette friend’s elegant long fingers. Her gaze traveled over the willowy brunette’s sprawled form, settling on the starlight reflecting in Althea’s hazel eyes.

“Sometimes I wish I could go home, too,” Helen said. “But I can't. Not really. My parents need me to make something of myself. What else am I going to do? Run away? Ask my parents to buy me a commission in the imperial navy? Ask them to send me to mage school? I haven't any income of my own, and my parents are buying dresses on credit now that my youngest sister is old enough to start attending balls.”

Althea frowned. She hated to admit it, but her friend had a point. “Fine. Marriage as the next step, I understand. But why this marriage? Why marry someone we've barely traded two words with? I doubt he loves me, and I certainly don't feel anything for him when I don’t even know him. I just don't see the point in choosing the duke.”

“I saw the point in choosing John,” Helen sat up, letting go of Althea’s hand. She fiddled nervously with a strawberry-blonde braid that looked almost white in the bluish light of the moon before continuing.

“As you said, we were all but engaged before we took the trip to York. He's landed gentry and manages his finances capably. His lands abut our families' lands and he hasn't a reputation for cruelty. Both of our mothers have wanted him for a son-in-law, but my older sister reached marriageable age before we did, so my mother had a head start in getting his attention. Then Margaret married your brother and Avice went away to mage school. But I don’t want to marry John.” Helen paused, taking hold of her friend’s hand. “Do you want to marry John?”

“No,” Althea replied, reluctance entering her voice.

“Why not?”

Althea bit her lip and lay back, staring up at the night sky. Helen looked away, clinging to her friend’s hand as she waited for an answer. Her eyes lingered on Mars, a steady orange gleam, then wandered over to the constellation of Lyra.

“He's just not very appealing,” Althea admitted, watching a small tuft of cloud drift into Aquila. “He's fat and he's twelve years older than we are, and he's very boring in conversation.”

“Is the duke boring, fat, ugly, and old?” Helen asked, giving space for a brief moment of sullen silence before continuing. “So, what's wrong with him?”

Althea sighed. “I already told you I thought he was handsome. I just don't know him, that's all. Well, maybe the part where he's marrying seven other women.”

“As far as I'm concerned, that just means fewer wifely duties,” Helen said. “All for the better, really. Even if I don't love him and he doesn't love me… I love you, Althea. I'd marry you in a heartbeat if you could afford to keep me up in style. If you marry him with me, it'll be like marrying your best friend and having a tall handsome lover that you can sneak out to see whenever you're bored.”

Althea blushed. “I'm not bored with you, you're my best friend,” she said.

“If you're not bored with me, then stay with me,” Helen said, squeezing her hand again. “And Cecily can get stuck marrying John.”

“Poor John,” Althea said melodramatically, putting a wrist to her forehead and looking up at the sky. “I don't know that John deserves to have Cecily inflicted on him.” She tried very hard to keep a straight face. Then she giggled. “Fine. I'll marry you, scandalously take the duke as my lover to make you jealous, and one of our younger sisters will get stuck with John. Probably not Cecily, though, she always gets her way.”

Helen smiled and sat up. “I now pronounce you my wife,” she intoned in her best imitation of a magistrate, then suddenly bent over and planted a quick kiss on her friend's lips. “There. All done, no takesy-backsies.”

Althea laughed. After a moment, Helen joined her. The stars continued to shine.

She excused herself just a moment ago, Isolde sent, and then smiled at Stephen, pushing a rook forward. "Check," she said aloud. Something about seeing to necessities. I assume she's gone to find a garderobe. She shouldn't be long. I let slip that I'd expected to meet you for a game here later.

Should I wait out here to intercept her, then? Avery asked from the hallway.

No. Please do come in. Stephen's been hanging on my every word. I'm sure I can convince him to abandon his sister, Isolde replied. He'd like to get me unchaperoned, if I don't miss my guess.

Avery opened the door. “Hello, Stephen,” he said, smiling. “I see you must be an excellent chess player. Isolde looks like she's being challenged today.”

“Your Grace,” Stephen said, standing up and bowing. “She's traded each of her ships for a castle,” he said, gesturing at the board. “I'm little challenge, I'm sure,” he lied.

Avery narrowed his eyes briefly. “Very polite of you,” he said coolly. “I'll give you that.”

Stephen swallowed, remembering what his sister had said about the duke being able to smell lies. He didn't want to be caught out in a lie. He looked at the chessboard. “My apologies if I have taken over your favorite chess set and playing partner,” he said. “I could stand aside, if you like.”

“Nonsense,” Isolde said, breaking in. “I'm not letting you escape so easily. There's another set in the chest, and I'm sure Avery would enjoy playing a round with your sister when she gets back.”

Stephen smiled. “Perfect. I'm sure she'll be back in just a minute.”

Sabine ducked into the loophole and caught her breath. Applying perfume was an innocuous act, but she still wanted a bit of privacy in case… well, in case. There was a full barrel of arrows. The succession dispute must have had Avery worried about an assault on the keep itself, she thought, sliding the perfume bottle out of her sleeve. She carefully wiped both wrists off with a damp cloth – she didn’t want to mix two magical perfumes and cause a potentially unexpected interaction effect – and then dabbed each wrist with a single small drop. The evening had shown her that the phantasm had a fairly strong effect.

After a moment's hesitation, she poured another drop on her finger, and wiped it on the base of her neck. If the duke came very close, she wanted him to be additionally impaired.

“What are you doing here?”

Sabine jumped. She turned, slipping the perfume bottle in her sleeve. It was one of the barons' daughters who’d been in the great hall during Avery’s announcement. Helen, she recalled after a moment. Her strawberry blonde hair was distinctive enough; she’d been two seats down from her.

“I was just exploring,” Sabine said, trying to sound nonchalant. “I got a little lost, to be honest, and I thought I might see which side of the keep I was on by looking out a window.” She gestured at the arrow slit.

Helen sniffed. “You're on the east side of the tower,” she said, stepping closer. She licked her lips. “I was looking for a place to be alone with my thoughts for a little while,” she added. She sniffed again. “You smell nice.”

“Thank you,” Sabine said, dipping into a quick curtsy. Helen was between her and the exit to the loophole. “I'll leave you to your thoughts, then,” she said, turning sideways to try to squeeze past.

Helen grabbed her elbow with surprising firmness. “Oh, please don't go. I'd rather your company than that of my thoughts.”

Sabine froze. “Oh. Well, I suppose we could talk a little,” she said.

Avery leaned against the wall beside the door, waiting for Sabine to return. It's been a long time, he sent to Isolde.

Feminine hygiene can sometimes be messy, Isolde sent back, not taking her eye off the chessboard. She and Stephen both seemed determined to stretch the chess game out long enough to give Avery an excuse to play Sabine, each passing up opportunities for favorable piece trades. But now their pawns were all locked in place. Still, it has been quite a long time. I could go look for her.

Don't bother, Avery sent. I'll ask the dogs. It'll be faster. He walked over to the couch, where a giant gray wolfhound was sleeping.

Manfred, time to wake up. I want Sabine found. Avery scratched the old hound's head.

The hound yawned. Sabine has been muttering on the other side of the doorway and peering through the crack, and is about to open it the rest of the way. I can hear her.

Avery felt some invisible mental force press in on him, and shut his mental shields tight. Then the pressure eased. The door opened, revealing Sabine. She looked up at Avery, her face flushed and her gait a little bit unsteady. “Your Grace,” she said, dropping into a curtsy.

She smells different, the hound said, hopping off the couch and sticking his nose impolitely close to the woman. New strange smell. I wanted to hump her leg for a moment. The dog sneezed and then growled, walking quickly out of the room. Dangerous woman. Dangerous smell.

Avery greeted her. He didn't smell anything unusual as she approached – just some ordinary sort of perfume and the scent of woman. I’ll have to get closer, he thought to himself, searching for an excuse. “You look unsteady. May I help you to the couch?” He held out his arm.

“Thank you kindly, Your Grace,” she said, grasping his arm with both of hers and slipping in close.

He inhaled deeply through his nose, searching for the magical scent he had been told was there. He felt like he could imagine a surge of desire and arousal, but as soon as he tried to focus on the matter, the fleeting wisps of imagined magical influence vanished. True, she was quite comely, her figure a picture of mage-sculpted perfection, but he'd thought that from a distance as well. He sat down next to her on the couch.

“Did you want to play chess?” Avery asked. “Your brother seemed to think you might like a game.”

“I do play,” she said demurely, a deft evasion of a direct answer that left her true desires shrouded. “We certainly could start a game, if you have another chess set.”

“I do,” Avery said, standing up. “Let me fetch it.”

He went to the chest and pulled out the chess set, handing it to her. She took the box, and he watched as she opened the lid and looked inside. She handled the pieces carefully, looking at them closely before putting them on the table.

“Is something wrong?” he asked softly.

“Nothing at all,” she said, setting the chessmen on the table. Lie. Avery frowned. She shook her head. “Nothing I want to talk about,” she clarified, her voice barely above a murmur. “Perhaps we should begin the game.”

“Certainly,” he said, seating himself opposite her. “I'm sure you're a formidable opponent.”

“You flatter me,” she said, smiling at him as she automatically responded with a polite lie. Avery’s golden eyes fixed on her and she felt a sudden chill, goosebumps rising on her arms.

They were barely past their opening moves when Stephen tipped over his king, yawned broadly, and said something about needing to stretch his legs; Isolde offered to accompany him to make sure he didn’t get lost, and the two headed agreeably towards the door.

Manfred, see to it that they're not ever alone, Avery sent as he pushed a pawn into danger.

As paws silently padded away, Sabine smiled and moved her knight in front of the pawn. Avery frowned, looking at the board carefully.

“I can't see why you did that,” Avery said, moving to capture Sabine's knight. She took the pawn with her other knight.

“A girl has to have some secrets,” she said. “Looks like you will have me soon.”

“I want to know one of your secrets. Why did you enspell my fiancées with happiness at dinner tonight?” Avery sailed his black-square ship across the board, capturing Sabine's other knight.

Sabine blinked. “That's blunt,” she said. She chose her next words very carefully. “It was a side effect of my continuing efforts to seduce you. Are those efforts working?”

“No,” Avery said, sending another pawn forward. “Not really. Though you are charming.”

Sabine moved her king's rook, shuffling it into an awkward position behind her own pawn in the same rank.

“Are you even trying to win?” Avery asked.

Sabine sighed. “You're supposed to be happy that you're beating me.”

“That's not the point of this game,” Avery said. “The point is to take your measure. Isolde beats me as often as not, and she told me you were good. I wasn't expecting to win.”

“What was the point of your game? You had to know my father could never swear to you over the Duke of Lancaster,” Sabine said bitterly, tipping over her king and standing up. “Aren't I enough of a prize by myself?” Her fingers traced down the edges of the daringly deep decolletage of her gown.

“You are a prize any man would be proud to win,” Avery said. “Even if you don't bring your duchy with you. But… I made my decision. It wouldn't be fair to the others. And it's brought me the allegiance of many of the nobility and gentry. Including ones that won't be my new in-laws.”

“Can't you make one little exception the other way?” Sabine said, stepping close, craning her neck to maintain eye contact. "I'm seventh in line for Lancaster and I'm willing to swear to you. Seventh in line for a duchy and a proficient enchantress.” She paused. “Usually,” she muttered. Why had she said that?

“Usually?” Avery's golden eyes bored into her as he straightened, rising to his full height and peering down at her. “Did you try to cast a charm on me?”

The room grew suddenly cold. Sabine shivered, backing away from him. She tripped over a footstool, landing butt-first on the carpet, her limbs sprawled in every direction. Her hands gripped the carpet as she stared up at him, fear written across her face.

“Yes. Yes, I did.” Tears filled her eyes. “Please forgive me. I just wanted to have you. I can't make you fall in love with me,” she said, her voice cracking. “I can't make you marry me. Please don't kill me.”

Avery looked down at Sabine. Tears were freezing to her cheeks, and her lips were turning blue. Pity filled his heart, and he took a deep breath. The room warmed. He reached down to her, scooping her up and carrying her to a couch next to the fireplace. He bundled her into a blanket, and then laid a hand on her head. “I am sorry I frightened you,” he said. “I will think on what you said. For now, it is late, and York has been dangerous of late. You should stay here at the keep tonight.”