prue;

“Walk with me, Lady Ashwell.”

“I have not agreed to walk anywhere with you,” you answered.

“No,” he agreed, “you have not, but I suspect you will anyway. Your lady-in-waiting is watching us very closely from the gate, and if you turn around and leave after only four minutes, she will report it to your mother by supper and your mother will then tell the Queen, and neither of us wants to receive that letter.”

He offered you his arm, “Ten minutes, my lady. One walk around the fountain and I promise I will not smoke.”

You looked at his arm and then looked past him towards the gate. Daisy stood exactly where he said, watching the two of you without even trying to hide it.

You sighed before finally accepting his offer, “Ten minutes,” you did not take his arm, but began walking beside him anyway, “not a moment longer.”

“Understood,” Jungkook nodded. 

To Jungkook, it seemed only fitting that you were so detached from the real world, especially when your father was among the nobles on his kill list.

♡━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━♡

a/n: this takes place on the night before

Last night, you spent several hours thinking about how to best ensure that the Queen’s plan of arranged marriage between you and the Duke of Jeon will never progress beyond its first meeting.

Sometime after midnight, you turned off the lights in your room and lit up a candle. With the candle on your desk burned down to its final parts of wax and a book lying open before you, you came up with three possible plans.

Plans you believed might drive Captain Jungkook into a realisation that you were entirely unsuitable for him.

All three plans were based on a conclusion you’ve found: soldiers and noblemen value dignity above nearly everything else. Men throughout the Kingdom of Leon also have this obsession for appearing to be in control. They liked their households to be orderly, wives agreeable, and reputations free from anything negative. 

This then led you to believe that there is no faster way to repel a man who cares deeply about dignity than to demonstrate that you have none yourself.

Therefore, a man such as Captain Jeon Jungkook who is disciplined enough to command an entire regiment, would surely find the idea of being seen beside a woman who did not know how to behave like a proper lady, entirely unbearable.

You see no flaw or logical fallacies in your plan.

Once your plan was put into action, Jungkook would return to his regiment that very evening, inform his men that the Queen has made an extraordinary error, and write to Her Majesty himself requesting that the arrangement be cancelled. This would spare you the trouble of writing a letter to the Queen.

You could even imagine the relief on your father’s face once the Queen cancels this arrangement as the match would end through no fault of House Ashwell. It would end solely because Captain Jungkook could not stand the strange behaviour of the Ashwell’s youngest daughter, which is fortunately for everyone involved, was something most people already expected of you.

After coming up with these plans last night, you felt rather satisfied with yourself.

♡━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━♡

a/n: back to the present

Walking beside Jungkook now, with the trickling sound of the fountain nearby and the trees shielding the two of you from the grey sky above, you decided there was no better time to put the first part of your plan into action.

You raised your left hand, slowly removed the glove covering it, and began picking your nose in the middle of the park.

It was not something any proper lady ought to do in public, and certainly not in front of the man she was expected to marry.

And you had chosen to carry out this perfect plan with Captain Jeon Jungkook, Duke of Jeon, walking at your side with his hands clasped neatly behind his back.

Jungkook glanced at you and did not so much as blink.

Perfect, you thought to yourself. 

That single glance from the Captain was surely proof enough that your plan had work. Captain Jungkook is, after all, simply another man who imagined himself marrying the perfect lady, and the perfect lady does not pick her nose in the middle of a public park. 

So you have done it.

You have successfully driven him away from the thought of proceeding with this marriage and you couldn’t help feeling rather proud of the lady you’ve become. All those years spent reading and studying did not fail you. 

Education truly is the most powerful weapon.

Jungkook had to suppress his laugh. He was impressed by the lengths you were willing to go to avoid marrying him. To his credit, if Jungkook was not attempting to bring down the Kingdom of Leon and if he didn’t need you to be his pawn, Jungkook might have been equally determined to avoid marrying you.

He noticed the people passing nearby beginning to look at you. A woman slowed down as she walked past, one of the elderly gentlemen near the fountain lowered his newspaper, and many others were glancing at you. So it would not take long for the story to travel from the park to someone with access to the palace. Then, by evening, half of the city might believe that Lady Ashwell and the Duke of Jeon were entirely unsuited to one another. And by nighttime, the Queen might believe it too. 

Jungkook understood your plan perfectly. And as a Captain known throughout the kingdom for his strategies, Jungkook did what he believed was necessary to preserve a marriage that must proceed.

Jungkook lifted his right hand, removed the glove, and did precisely the same thing.

You first caught his movement on your peripheral view. When you turned your head towards him and realised what he was doing, you stopped walking. 

"What are you doing, Captain?" you asked. 

“The same thing you are doing,” Jungkook replied, “I have always wondered what it would be like to pick my nose in a public setting. Lady Ashwell, you are remarkably brave.”

You looked at him in disbelief, while Jungkook stared back at you entirely unbothered, as if this was perfectly ordinary, “Captain, may I ask how you are not bothered by my improper action?” you asked.

“Why should I be?” Jungkook said, “I imagine everyone wishes to break the rules occasionally.”

“It is common decency, Captain, to not to do such a thing in public,” you answered, reminding him of common etiquettes. 

“I have only just done the very same as you, Lady Ashwell,” Jungkook said, tilting his head slightly.

“I had an urge,” you replied, looking away from him.

“As did I,” Jungkook said.

You realised rather late that starting your carefully devised plan by picking your nose in the middle of a public park might have been too reckless an opening move. Even worse, it seemed to have failed entirely. Maybe, as a Captain, Jungkook has already witnessed sights far more unpleasant and improper than a lady picking her nose, and therefore found the act to be normal.

♡━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━♡

So you moved to the second method you had devised the night before.

“Captain Jungkook,” you said, turning your head towards him, “perhaps this meeting would be more delightful if you could tell me a joke.”

Jungkook looked at you, surprised at the sudden interest, “A joke?”

“Yes,” you said, “something amusing.”

“I do not consider myself a particularly humorous man,” Jungkook replied.

“Oh, do try!” you urged, “surely the youngest Captain in the kingdom has at least one joke.”

Jungkook looked at you for a few seconds, evidently suspicious of the sudden request, before finally agreeing, “Very well, lady.”

Jungkook had to consider which joke a lady such as yourself would be most likely to dislike, then remembered one Seokjin had told him, “A royal physician once asked a knight, ‘Do you still talk to yourself?’”

Jungkook paused, allowing you time to think of an answer before continuing the joke, “The knight replied, ‘No, we had an argument.’”

You laughed, loudly.

It was an undignified laugh, far louder than the joke deserved, and ending in a snort so unrefined that even you were faintly startled by it. It was precisely the sort of sound your mother had spent years in your childhood training you not to make.

Surely such a loud and undignified laugh would be enough to make Captain Jungkook reconsider the marriage. There was simply no possibility that he would willingly spend the rest of his life with a woman who picked her nose in public and then laughed like a madwoman.

Once again, you felt rather proud of yourself. This was without question, the finest plan you have ever devised. You could not help offering a silent prayer of thanks to the Gods above for giving you a father who cared so deeply about his daughters’ education.

You were brilliant.

At least, that was what you believed until Captain Jungkook began laughing in precisely the same manner.

His laugh was loud, graceless, and followed by a snort, a few snorts even, that were so remarkably similar to yours that you stopped smiling altogether.

Jungkook understood what you were attempting to do almost as soon as the first unnatural sound left your mouth. You were not behaving badly because you lacked manners, but you were behaving badly because you wanted Jungkook to believe that you did, and Jungkook found this considerably more interesting.

It was funny to him that you spent the first minutes of meeting him insulting his profession, refusing his arm, and attempting to make yourself appear so unsuitable that he would withdraw from the arrangement himself. 

Jungkook glanced towards the people nearby. Several heads already turned to look at the two of you, and one woman was whispering something to her companion behind a gloved hand. If Jungkook appeared embarrassed, offended, or eager to distance himself from you, those witnesses would leave the park believing that the meeting had been a disaster.

That was precisely what you wanted, and what Jungkook could not let you have. So he laughed as loudly as you did, even snorted a few times, and then he looked at you as if he was completely entertained by his future wife.

Now, anyone watching would not see an ill-mannered lady humiliating a respectable Captain and Duke. They would see two equally strange people enjoying one another’s company.

Jungkook smiled at the horror spreading across your face.

Your plan did not merely fail, Jungkook has made it evident that the Queen’s matchmaking was once again, perfect.

“You are mocking me,” you said.

“We have the same laugh,” Jungkook replied, “though I understand your confusion to me mocking you. I imagine no one has laughed the same way you do before.”

“No one laughs in such a manner, it is entirely improper,” you added.

“And yet here we both are,” Jungkook said, “I would say that makes us rather well suited, would you not? Perhaps the Queen was onto something after all.”

“The Queen,” you continued, “has clearly never heard either of us laugh.”

“I should hope not. I do not believe Her Majesty could withstand it,” Jungkook replied.

♡━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━♡

You narrowed your eyes at Jungkook.

You could not believe that a man such as him truly laughed that way. 

A Captain who carried himself with such irritating composure, who even sat straight while smoking, could not possibly possess a laugh that sounded so remarkably like your fake laugh. 

He was lying. You figured Jungkook had seen through your plan and decided to imitate you and you refused to allow him the satisfaction.

Very well, you thought to yourself. This was precisely why you had prepared a third plan, in case the other two did not work. 

You began walking in the strangest manner you could, swinging your arms with exaggerated movements.

Jungkook, without missing a step, adopted the very same walk beside you.

A fully grown Captain and Duke was now marching down the central path of Darlington Park like a clown. And beside him was another duke’s daughter doing precisely the same thing.

“This is ridiculous,” you said, finally coming to a stop.

“Entirely,” Jungkook agreed as the two of you began walking normally, “but I have concluded that you are considerably more interesting than the Queen’s letter suggested. I do not believe that was a compliment I wanted to give, so I would ask that you not enjoy it too much.”

"I am not enjoying anything," you said.

"Of course not," Jungkook said.

You passed the hedge the groundskeeper has abandoned as he focused on the two of you. Then you noticed the two elderly gentlemen had also by now given up every subtlety and were staring openly at you and Captain Jungkook. While another pair of young women walking arm in arm began whispering the moment the two of you passed them.

"I do not understand," you finally said frustratedly, "why can you not recognise the service I am attempting to do for us both?”

Jungkook glanced at you but said nothing.

“I am trying to spare you a lifetime of me, Captain. Of every ridiculous and improper thing I might do between now and whatever unfortunate day we are made to stand before an altar together,” you continued. 

You gestured between the two of you before adding, “I am offering you the opportunity to walk away with your dignity entirely intact and inform the Queen that we are catastrophically unsuited to one another. You could be free of this arrangement within the week, if only you would cooperate instead of imitating every foolish thing I attempt.”

In another life, Jungkook might have thanked you for the escape you were offering him. But not in this one.

In this life, he had a kingdom to overthrow, and however little he liked you, he needed the marriage to proceed.

"Marriage with me wouldn't be so bad," Jungkook said.

"Yes," you muttered, "you are right. It would be worse."

♡━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━♡

You have barely taken two steps when a voice called the two of you from the direction of the gate.

“Captain Jeon! And Lady Ashwell, is it not?”

You and Jungkook turned around to find a man approaching the two of you. He wore a finely tailored grey coat and carried a walking stick, swinging it with unnecessary enthusiasm. 

You didn’t recognise him immediately, but your sister Margot had mentioned him once or twice over dinner, though it took awhile for you to remember who he was. 

“Viscount Lee,” Jungkook said, bowing his head, “what an unexpected pleasure.”

“Duke,” Viscount Lee replied as he reached you, looking between the two of you with curiosity. It was the sort of look that made it perfectly clear he intended to remember every detail of the encounter, “I confess, I did not know the two of you were so well acquainted.”

“We are not,” you said.

“Darling,” Jungkook said, turning towards you as he put a hand over his heart as if you'd struck him there directly with a thunder, “you wound me!”

You stared at him in shock and disgust.

And your mouth opened to correct him and to explain to Viscount Lee that whatever he believed he had just witnessed was a misrepresentation of the truth. But Jungkook did not give you the opportunity to do so.

“Her Majesty has chosen us for one another,” Jungkook said smoothly, his hand falling from his chest to rest briefly at your back. The gesture was so natural, and so entirely unexpected, that you nearly stepped forward from the surprise of it.

“Today is our first meeting and it appears, Viscount, that we are rather compatible,” Jungkook added, smiling at you.

“I can see that,” Viscount Lee said, “it was quite a sight, watching the two of you. I confess I stopped to observe for rather longer than I intended, even your gestures appeared to match, Captain. I do not believe I have ever witnessed such a thing between two people who have only just met!”

“We are told the Queen is rarely mistaken in these matters,” Jungkook said.

“Evidently not,” Viscount Lee proudly agreed, before turning towards you, “Lady Ashwell, I must admit, I have heard that you kept almost entirely to your books and rarely ventured beyond your father’s library. It is a pleasure to discover that the rumours were somewhat exaggerated.”

“They were not exaggerated,” you replied, “I do keep to my books, Viscount. This morning was an exception.”

“She possesses a remarkable number of exceptions, as it happens. I have had the privilege of witnessing several of them already,” Jungkook said.

Viscount Lee appeared delighted by what he was hearing, though you could hear the mockery beneath the Captain’s words.

“Have you indeed?” Viscount Lee asked, “you must tell me, Captain-”

“I am afraid Lady Ashwell is expected home,” Jungkook interrupted with such ease that the Viscount appeared not to notice he had been interrupted at all, “and I would not wish to keep her from her family any longer.”

“You understand, of course. A man in my position must be terribly careful about appearances, particularly where a lady’s reputation is concerned,” Jungkook said, offering the Viscount an apologetic smile.

“Of course,” Viscount Lee said, though his eyes remained upon you for a moment longer, “I shall not keep either of you. Though I confess, Captain, I shall be very interested to see how this arrangement develops. The entire city will be interested, I imagine, once word begins to spread.”

“I imagine it will,” Jungkook replied.

Viscount Lee bowed first to you and then to Jungkook before continuing down the path, satisfied with the acquired gossip for his evening conversation. The moment he was out of sight, you turned to look at Jungkook.

“Darling?” you repeated.

"A normal term of endearment, Lady Ashwell, nothing more," Jungkook said, entirely unbothered.

♡━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━♡

You walked another few steps in silence before asking him another question,  "Just answer me. Why?" 

"My lady?"

“Why do you wish for this arrangement to continue?” you asked, “you have made it perfectly clear this morning that you find it every bit as inconvenient as I do. You did not ask for it any more than I did, and yet you have spent the entire morning doing precisely the opposite of what one might expect.”

You turned towards the Captain, “By every indication you have given me, you are actively attempting to keep this marriage alive rather than allowing it to die quietly, as we both so clearly wish it would.”

You looked into his eyes as you stated, “I would like to know why.”

Jungkook could not tell you the truth. He could not say that you were just a useful piece on a chessboard. He could not explain that marrying into House Ashwell might provide the revolutionists with a way into the secret meetings they had spent years attempting to infiltrate, or that it might bring him closer to the nobles whose names filled the list hidden inside his uniform.

Jungkook certainly could not tell you that the marriage might give them the information the revolutionists needed to begin dismantling the kingdom’s ruling order and move against the powerful men who have protected it for so long.

So Jungkook gave you the most convincing answer he could think of, though he knew any lady would not take it well, including you.

“Because if I am to be married, I would rather it be to one of the prettiest daughters society currently has to offer than gamble on whatever wife I might be handed next. You are considered a great beauty in society, my lady. I am a practical man, I have thought about this arrangement and concluded that it is a favourable one, that is why,” Jungkook stated.

You did not know what to say, so you just stared at him.

For a moment, you thought you had misheard.

Perhaps you didn’t hear some part of the conversation. You almost asked Captain Jungkook to repeat himself, simply to be certain that did not misheard or misunderstood. But the expression on his face told you that you have heard him perfectly.

“What a disgusting pig you are,” you said, looking at him with disgust, “Truly, soldiers are a sore upon society and I am beginning to understand again precisely why.”

The look on Jungkook’s face changed and for one brief moment you saw that you had finally struck him somewhere it hurt. It was the first insult you have managed to hurt him with all morning.

“You asked, my lady,” Jungkook replied, “and I gave you an honest answer as I did not take you for the sort of woman who preferred to be lied to.”

♡━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━♡

The study at the Jeon townhouse looked the same as it had the night before. The same tall windows stood behind the heavy curtains, keeping most of the grey afternoon light from entering the room, and the books and reports scattered around the long table.

Jimin was there when Jungkook returned, seated in the chair nearest the door with a book open on his lap that he did not appear to actually be reading, and Seokjin claimed his usual spot by the fire, boots propped up on the table. And both of them looked up the moment Jungkook entered.

"Well," Seokjin said, not bothering to move his boots, "Captain J, it’s nice to see you're alive. I confess I did not expect you back quite so soon. I assumed a proper courtship would require at least a full morning of exchanging poetries and longing glances."

Jungkook walked across the room without answering his man. He pulled his gloves off, and set them down beside the letter from the Crown still sitting on his desk. Then poured himself a whisky and sat on the chair behind the desk.

"Well?" Jimin asked, setting his book aside.

"It went as I expected," Jungkook said.

Seokjin raised his eyebrow, "That's it? Did you not promise me a story?"

"There is a story," Jungkook answered, “The youngest daughter of House Ashwell is more intelligent than the letter suggested and considerably more stubborn than I anticipated. She stood up for herself, even called me an arrogant prick in the process. Then she spent the walk attempting to convince me and the society that we were unsuited by behaving as badly as she could in public. I had to do the same as her at every turn so nothing negative about our match reach the Queen’s ears. I had to do it for the sake of the revolutionists and it worked well enough. I believe Viscount Lee is repeating the story to half the city as we speak and none of it unfavorably."

"So the marriage will proceed?" Jimin asked.

"The marriage proceeds," Jungkook agreed.

Seokjin waited a moment, clearly expecting more, but when he realised his Captain was not going to say anything more, he asked, "That's genuinely all? By the look on your face when you walked in, I felt I was owed considerably more entertainment than this."

"There is one concern. Lady Ashwell has very strong opinions on soldiers and has clearly read a great deal on the Kingdom, considering how quickly she turned an argument about our profession into an argument about who faced the consequences from it,” Jungkook replied.

He looked around at the men gathered before continuing, “I despise her. Not because she called me an arrogant prick, I have been called worse. But I despise her for how easily and naively she formed the opinions she holds.”

Jungkook turned the glass once in his hand, watching the whisky swirling around, “She has spent her entire life in a mansion, protected by the very men she considers shameful, and has never once understood what her comfort costs us soldiers. It is easy to call soldiers a stain upon the kingdom when one has never gone without because of what they protect.”

Jungkook set the glass down as he continued, “But she is not stupid and that is precisely the problem. A foolish woman could live beneath this roof and notice nothing. Lady Ashwell reads, questions, and speaks whenever she believes something is wrong. She will not ignore a house full of men gathering in the study every week. The war gave us an excuse to gather without question but that excuse is gone now. Ten soldiers meeting in a townhouse with no war to speak of will draw questions eventually. A clever woman who dislikes soldiers and the war will soon be living beneath this roof and she requires considerably more caution than I expected.”

Seokjin's grin has now faded, "You think she'll work it out."

“I think,” Jungkook said, “that if we are careless, she will work out considerably more than any of us would like, and sooner than any of us expect. She speaks kindly of innocent lives, but her argument begins with her hatred of soldiers. A woman who believes men like us are a stain upon the kingdom is not someone I can assume will look kindly upon ten soldiers plotting to bring that kingdom down.”

“Then we shall simply stop meeting here,” Seokjin said, offering what he considered the most practical solution.

“No,” Jimin replied before Jungkook could answer, “finding another place secure enough for all of us would be difficult. We simply have to exercise more caution in this house than we have because this place will soon belong to her as well.”

“She will be lady of the house,” Jungkook said, “that means she will oversee it alongside Alfred. He is part of revolutionists, so I trust him to keep anything important from her, but every report, file, and piece of correspondence must be kept out of sight. Nothing is to be left in the study, sitting rooms, or even the bedrooms any of you use.”

Jimin gathered the correspondence in front of him into a single pile, “I will speak to Hana and Walter. If Walter is still using the townhouse for the underground press, it must stop before Lady Ashwell moves in.”

"See that it does," Jungkook said.

Seokjin looked at his captain, "Captain J, You seem remarkably unbothered for a man who was called an arrogant prick this morning."

"I am unbothered," Jungkook said, "being called an arrogant prick changes nothing about what must happen next. What concerns me is not what she thinks of me but what she might eventually see if we are not careful enough about what we allow her to see. Everything else that occurred this morning is frankly irrelevant."

"Captain, I believe you need her trusting you not questioning you. If she believes you are fond of her, she will not think to look too closely at what happens in this house," Seokjin said.

"She is not a woman who will be won over by fondness," Jungkook answered his senior officer, "she is too clever for it, and she would see through the flattery immediately. We ought to be smart when she is around is all."

Rain has finally begun to fall from the grey sky outside. Jungkook’s men, Jimin and Seokjin, left the study to find Alfred, the Jeon household’s butler, to begin preparing the mansion for everything that would need to change before Lady Ashwell arrived.

Jungkook reached for the Crown’s letter, folded it once, and placed it inside a drawer as the matter was already settled. 

Jungkook will be marrying you. 

♡━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━♡

After your meeting with Captain Jungkook, you and Daisy, your lady-in-waiting, spent the day at the public library. You did not return to the Ashwell townhouse until around four o'clock, with your arms full of books Daisy insisted you did not need but you purchased anyway. 

As you were walking towards your room, you heard your sister calling your name.

“_____!” Margot called the moment she caught sight of you passing the tea room, already standing up from her chair.

Your sister was dressed in a blue gown over long white skirts, her face lit up with excitement. Just one look at her told you she had heard some gossip and could not bear to keep it to herself a moment longer.

“There you are! Finally,” Margot said with a dramatic sigh, “I have been sitting here for half an hour waiting for you to come home and Mother refused to tell me a single detail until you arrived. Very mean of her, considering I am to be married in five days and surely deserve some entertainment before then.”

"Margot," you greeted as you set your books down on the side table. Behind you, Daisy quietly closed the door to the tea room, understanding that the Ashwells had matters to discuss that were not meant for her or the other servants’ ears.

"I did not know you were coming today," you said to Margot.

“I did not plan to,” Margot said, taking your hands and pulling you farther into the room.

Your mother sat nearby, while your father stood at the window with his hands behind his back.

“But Viscount Lee called on Lady Whitmore, who called on our aunt, who sent word to me within the hour. I could not possibly wait until my wedding to hear the truth from you directly!” Margot’s eyes brightened before continuing, “Tell me everything! I heard he called you darling in front of half the park.”

"He is infuriating," you said, sitting down on the blue chair, "that is the only word I have for him, Margot. He is infuriating, arrogant, and entirely too pleased with himself. Besides, he is a soldier and I have no intention of marrying one."

“You say that about every man,” Margot replied, entirely unbothered by your response. She sat back into her chair, “You said much the same of Lord Whitfield. And Baron Cole.”

"Neither of the men you mentioned were soldiers."

“No,” Margot agreed, “they were merely dull, which you said so yourself, if I recall. At least this one has given you something worth talking about! You have never been this agitated over a man!”

You opened your mouth to argue and explain precisely how Captain Jungkook ruined what should have been a perfectly executed plan to end the engagement. But before you had the chance to, your father cleared his throat by the window.

"____," your father said, "your mother and I have something to tell you, and I think it best we do before Margot continues on with whatever questions she has prepared."

You looked between your parents, "What is it?" you asked, you were nervous to hear what they were about to say. Your stomach had already begun to twist in knots. 

“We received another letter from the palace this afternoon,” your mother said.

“Another one? So soon?” you asked nervously. 

“The Queen has already heard about your meeting this morning,” your mother continued, visibly trying to choose her words carefully as she knew they would not be received gently, “it seems Viscount Lee’s words reached the Queen well before ours did, and Her Majesty was delighted.”

Your mother paused before continuing, “The Queen writes that she has rarely seen a match take so quickly that the affair has already become a sensation in certain circles. She has mentioned that she sees no reason for any further delay.”

“Further delay?” you repeated, clearly in shock from the news you heard.

“The wedding,” your father said, looking away from you, “it has been set for two weeks after Margot’s.”

The room fell silent.

"Two weeks," you repeated, "after Margot's wedding, which is held this weekend."

"Yes," your mother said quietly.

"So I am to be married," you slowly said, "in less than a month."

You sat still on the chair for what felt like five minutes, staring at your hands folded in your lap. Perhaps you thought that you ought to say something. You ought to argue as you did when you first read the letter. You ought to remind your father of every objection he raised himself of the bloodlines and the natural order of things. You ought to ask why none of that seemed to matter now.

But when you finally opened your mouth to fight for yourself, you found you did not have the energy for any of it.

You spent an entire morning fighting for your life and none of it mattered in the slightest, because the outcome, as your father has told you, has never truly been yours to decide.

"I understand," you quietly said instead.

Your mother looked visibly relieved, though she expected considerably more resistance and was not entirely certain what to make of its absence, "Darling," she said, "I know this is not what you wanted.."

"I understand, Mother," you said, interrupting her from finishing her sentence, "there is very little point in fighting a decision that was made before I was ever consulted on it. I do not intend to waste what remains of my energy fighting a battle I have already lost."

That was what you told your family.

Within your own mind, however, you were already searching for another way out. You have always believed there will always be a way out, like what one of your favourite authors wrote. 

There were three weeks between now and the wedding. Three weeks in which you must find some means of escaping the marriage. You did not yet know what or how you would be able to escape, only that you will find a way.

First, however, there was Margot’s wedding. And you would not miss your sister’s wedding for anything, not even your own freedom. Nor would you allow your troubles to cast even the smallest shadow over a day that belonged entirely to her.

For the next five days, you would smile, and endure the fittings and everything else as if your own future were not rapidly closing around you.

After that, you will escape.

“____,” Margot said softly, reaching for your hand, “I am sorry. I know how you feel about soldiers, but maybe he will not be so terrible. Captain Jungook is very handsome, at least. Believe me, there are worse faces to wake up next to.”

“Do not apologise, Margot,” you said, smiling at her, “I will not have you feeling guilty over any of this. This is still your week, and I do not want a single thought of my wedding taking up space that belongs to yours.”

“Are you certain?” she asked.

“I am.”

“There is one more thing,” your father said, making both you and Margot look up at once.

“Papa,” you said anxiously, “I do not believe I have the capacity for one more thing today.”

“Your mother and I have invited Captain Jungkook to dinner,” your father said, “this evening.”

You stared at your father.

“We thought it was best now that the wedding has been set, to take the opportunity to become properly acquainted with the man before he joins the family,” your father continued, “I confess, I should like to form my own opinion of him rather than relying entirely upon the opinions of others.”

"Tonight," you said in disbelief.

"Yes, honey. Tonight," your mother confirmed, "he sent his acceptance not long before you arrived home and he should be here by seven."

You closed your eyes for a moment and drew in a breath. You could not help wondering why the universe has decided that one day’s worth of Captain Jeon Jungkook was not enough of a punishment, "Of course he did," you said, mostly to yourself.

"You will want to change before he arrives," your mother added, already rising from her chair, "that dress has ink on its sleeves, darling, and I will not have Captain Jeon's first impression of this household to be one of a mess."

"Mother," you said, "he watched me pick my nose in a public park this morning. I do not believe a small ink stain is going to alter his opinion of this family.”

Margot let out a laugh, only to stifle it when your mother turned in her direction. 

"Regardless," your mother said, "you will change. And you will be civil at dinner, ____, whatever your opinions of the man. Whatever occurred this morning, he is very shortly to be your husband, and this house will conduct itself with proper hospitality.”

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Captain Jeon Jungkook arrived at precisely seven o'clock, not a minute before and not a minute after, which irritated you even more.

He changed out of his uniform and now wore a fitted black tailcoat with brass buttons, white trousers, and a dark cape draped over his shoulder. The clothes were formal without being too excessive, yet they still made him look commanding.

Jungkook stepped down from his car and greeted the doorman before climbing the steps to the Ashwells’ house. When the butler took his cape and hat at the door, you noticed that Jungkook thanked the man by name. You were certain he could not possibly have known it beforehand, which meant he likely asked in advance merely to impress your family.

What an irritating man, you thought to yourself. 

“Captain Jungkook,” your father said, approaching him with his hand already extended. You were surprised to hear none of the reluctance in your father’s voice that he expressed when speaking of the Duke of Jeon the previous day, “Welcome to our home.”

"Duke Ashwell," Jungkook said, taking his hand, "the pleasure is entirely mine. I confess I have been curious to see the house that produced four daughters of such reputation."

"Reputation?" your father repeated, he didn’t know whether to be wary or pleased of the word.

“Oh! all favourable, I assure you,” Jungkook smoothly replied, “Lady Medea’s wit is praised at nearly every dinner I have attended this season. Lady Ariel’s husband cannot spend five minutes at his club without finding some reason to brag about her. And Lady Margot, I am told, has arranged the wedding of the season, which I understand is to take place this very Saturday.”

Your father looked genuinely pleased.

You walked down the stairs then, having delayed as long as you could. Jungkook’s eyes found yours the moment you appeared. 

“Lady Ashwell,” Jungkook said, inclining his head, “we meet again, rather sooner than either of us anticipated this morning, I imagine.”

“Captain,” you replied, “I did not expect you to accept my parents’ invitation quite so readily.”

"I could hardly refuse," Jungkook said, "particularly not when your father was kind enough to extend it himself. It would have been rude not to.”

Your mother entered from the sitting hallway just then, wearing a gown she reserved for guests she intended to impress. She gave a small delighted laugh and you felt the evening beginning to slip beyond your control.

"Shall we?" your father said, gesturing towards the dining room.

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You hoped the dinner might provide some natural arguments. Your father did make his objections clear to Jungkook’s bloodline before. But within the first course, you were forced to abandon that hope.

"Tell me, Captain," your father said, once the soup had been served, "What was the northern war like? I understand your regiment was stationed there for the past two winters."

“It was harsher than I expected,” Jungkook said, “the cold was often worse than the war itself. A man can prepare himself to face an enemy, but the hunger and weeks without proper shelter are rather less honourable opponents. I am only grateful it ended when it did, Your Grace. Another winter there might have finished what the enemy could not.”

“A sensible answer,” your father said, giving his approval, “Parliament speaks endlessly of courage and victory, but very little of what it asks soldiers to endure between battles.”

“I could not agree more, Your Grace,” Jungkook said, “but I would ask that you not repeat that opinion to my officers. They are rather fond of the glory of victory than I am.”

Your father laughed at what Jungkook said. Across the table, you stirred your soup with more force than necessary, watching him warm up to a man he had called a stain upon the family bloodline.

“I understand your lands were formally restored to you only upon your promotion to captain,” your father said, “reclaiming an estate after so many years of neglect must not have been easy.”

“It was not, Sir.” Jungkook said, agreeing with your father, “the house was closed for nearly two decades by the time it was returned to me. I spent the first year simply learning what I had inherited, and the second year learning how much of it needed to be rebuilt.”

Jungkook paused before looking right at your father, “I understand, Your Grace, that you knew my father in the years before I was born. I have often wished I knew more of him than what little the records could tell me.”

His confession surprised you. Until then, you assumed his interest in the match was rooted in duty and something he wanted to get over with. It did not occur to you that he might have a more personal reason for accepting it so readily.

You found yourself wondering whether this was what had drawn him towards the marriage. Your father knew his father and by marrying into your family, Jungkook would gain more than a wife; he might also gain access to memories no record could preserve.

For the first time, his determination in the marriage seemed less like arrogance and more of him trying to learn about the life that had been taken from him.

The table briefly fell silent. You could see the complicated mixture of grief and guilt you have seen on your father’s face at the tea table two days earlier.

"He was a good friend to me in his time," your father said, "and I confess I have thought of him often these past few days, watching this arrangement unfold. I think he would be pleased to see his son so well established, Captain."

"That means a great deal to me, Your Grace," Jungkook answered.

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Your mother, for her part, required considerably less convincing than your father. 

She spent the second course asking Jungkook about his taste in music, discovering within a few short exchanges that he had a genuine appreciation for classical music, a fact that delighted your mother, as few gentlemen of her acquaintances could speak intelligently on the subject.

"You must join us for the classical sometime next season," your mother said.

“I would be honoured, Your Grace,” Jungkook replied, “though I fear His Grace may object to being so easily replaced.”

“He may still join us if he can remain awake through the performance. I am in desperate need of a companion who will not embarrass me by snoring,” your mother answered.

“I do not snore,” your father protested from the head of the table.

Your mother smiled, before saying, “Of course not, my dear. The entire row behind us merely imagined it.”

Jungkook lowered his gaze, clearly attempting to hide his amusement, while Margot made no such effort. You even had to press your lips together to keep from laughing.

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By the time the final course has been cleared, your father instructed the maid to bring out a bottle of brandy he reserved for his closest acquaintances. And as far as you knew, very few guests had ever been offered it.

“You will come to the wedding, of course,” Margot said as the evening finally began to draw to an end, “It will  happen this Saturday and I insist you come. You are practically family already, and I will not have my sister’s future husband absent from the celebration.”

“I would be honoured,” Jungkook replied, “provided your future husband does not object to a soldier attending in uniform. I am afraid I have little civilian attire suitable for such an occasion.”

“He will not object,” Margot assured him, “he served for two years before inheriting the barony. He will probably be delighted to have someone with whom he can discuss his previous life with.”

You sat through the remainder of the evening in stunned silence.

Your father, who had objected to Jungkook on the grounds of his bloodline. Your mother, who had spent years depressed of ever finding you a suitable match. Your sister who felt sorry for you now seemed genuinely convinced he might make you happy.

All of them had been thoroughly charmed by a shallow soldier who admitted he wanted to marry you because, in his words, you were at least pretty and he did not want to miss his chance. 

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When Jungkook finally stood up from his chair to take his leave, your father walked him personally to the door and the two of them were still deep in conversation about some matter of Parliament that your father seemed genuinely eager to continue at a later date.

“Lady Ashwell,” Jungkook said, standing before you while the butler fetched his cape. His voice dropped low enough that you knew the words were clearly meant for you alone, “I trust you found the evening as smooth as I did.”

“You are insufferable,” you replied quietly, not wanting to let your mother overhear.

“So I have been told,” Jungkook said with a smug expression across his face, “I find it considerably easier to win the favour of an entire household than that of the one member who has already decided to despise me.”

"I have very good reasons," you said, defending yourself.

“I do not doubt it,” Jungkook said, whispering in front of you, “though I confess, I expected your family to prove more difficult to impress.”

“They have mistaken good manners for good character,” you answered.

“An unfortunate habit,” he said, “I shall have to be careful not to behave too well in your presence. You might begin making the same mistake.”

“That is highly unlikely,” you said, rolling your eyes at him.

“Likewise,” Jungkook said, flashing you a smile so effortlessly charming that you hated yourself for noticing it at all.

Jungkook charmed your family without seeming to try, and yet not a single answer he gave them all evening told you anything real about the man himself. And you refused to be convinced.

You could not have explained it to your mother, or to Margot, or even to yourself in any reasonable way.

It was simply a feeling that whatever Captain Jungkook wanted from this house, it was not you.

Tea time at the Ashwell house was by long tradition, a quiet affair, and has been for as long as you could remember it.

It was a silence that everyone in the household simply agreed to keep, and the Duchess of Ashwell, Lady Cecily, always brings out the most beautiful china just for this occasion.

Your father would go through his letters and official messages he considered too dull to discuss at breakfast.

Your mother, more often than not, usually spent the hour arranging and rearranging the seating for whichever dinner party is coming up in the next few weeks, murmuring names to herself as if they were pieces on a board she alone understood the rules of. 

And you would always bring a book with you and hoped that no one would ask you to set it down, because a closed book in this house was an invitation for conversation, and conversation in this house rarely went anywhere you wished it to.

Lady Margot, your sister, would usually be in the room as well. But ever since getting engaged to the Baron of Rohan, she has been too busy to ever be in the House of Ashwell. 

Today, however, no one has brought anything to distract themselves. 

Your father's correspondence sat untouched at his elbow, your mother's guest list had not been so much as glanced at, and you have left your book upstairs in your library, though you could not now recall the decision to do so, only that your hands have felt too unsteady that morning to hold anything.

The letter from the palace was placed quite literally in the center of the table, propped against one of your father’s books. The seal of the letter was broken now, yet it still presented the unmistakable crest of the Crown, and every time your eyes drifted toward it you felt something in your stomach tighten.

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"I do not like it," your father said, for what was perhaps the fourth time since the tea had been poured and each time he said it, it seemed to carry a little less certainty and a little more stubbornness. 

He has not touched his teacup and the tea has long since stopped steaming.

"Edmund," your mother said, trying to stop your father from saying more, especially since the housemaid was still present near the door and was only leaving then, "honey, the tea is growing cold."

"Let it grow cold, then," your father said.

The moment the housemaid left and shut the door behind her, your father sighed with relief, "I do not like it, Cecily. He has commoner blood running through his veins. His mother was no more a lady than the girl who irons my shirts, and I am asked to hand my youngest and brightest daughter over to her son as if that were some manner of honor."

"Papa," you said, as you set your cup down with more force than the delicate china deserved, “why does it matter that he has commoner blood?"

Your father turned to look at you as if you just asked him the most obvious question. He looked at you like you just asked him why water was wet, or why the sky on a clear day is blue instead of any other colour. 

It was the look he gave you whenever you asked a question he considered too obvious to require an answer, and it was, you long ago decided, the look you disliked most on his face.

"Why does it matter?" your father repeated in the hope that hearing it aloud a second time might reveal to you the answer you were apparently too foolish to see on your own.

"Yes," you said, refusing to be scared away by the tone of your father, "why does it matter whose blood a man carries in his veins, if the man himself is disciplined, capable, and by every account I have heard from anyone who has actually met him, more competent than half the lords who sit in Parliament?"

"Because," your father sighed as he set his own teacup down, "I do not wish for my grandchildren to carry commoner blood in them. Is that such a difficult thing for you to understand, ____?"

"What are we, Papa…" you said, and your voice had gone quieter now, "..what are we without commoners? What are we without the maids who dress us each morning and lace us into gowns we could not manage on our own? What are we without the men who till the very land you collect rent from every quarter? or the boy in the stables who cleans the stalls each dawn so that your horse does not stand ankle-deep in its own filth before you take it out for your morning ride? Tell me, what precisely you imagine keeps this house standing, if not the very blood you seem so determined to keep from mingling with your own?”

"That is different," your father answered, and his jaw tightened in anger, "the natural order requires that some are born to serve and others born to be served. It has always been so, and it will remain so long after both of us are dust. And that means I do not wish to see my daughter, my own flesh and blood, married into a name that only barely escapes being called a servant."

"He is not in service, Papa," you said, "he is a Duke."

"He is a Duke," your father acknowledged, though he clearly found the fact distasteful, "with a mother who was not."

"It is fine, I suppose," your mother interrupted then, "since he is still a Duke, and a Captain too, and there are certainly far worse arrangements a daughter of ours might have been given. Recall Lady Whitmore's youngest, married off at sixteen to a widower thrice her age, with gout in both feet and a temper to match, poor thing writes to me still asking after remedies for his moods that I have no earthly notion how to provide."

"That is hardly a fair comparison, Cecily," your father muttered, "you deserve better," he said, turning his attnetion back to you, and for one brief moment, you thought perhaps this conversation might yet end somewhere reasonable with your father.

"I agree," you said, and you meant it, "I do not wish to marry a soldier of any blood, commoner or noble."

Your father blinked, visibly caught off guard, like he did not anticipate the two of you arriving at a conclusion from such entirely different directions, his own objection rooted in bloodlines and yours rooted in something he clearly didn’t think to consider at all. 

"Well," he said, “he is still very respectable in his position. A man who has risen as he has, through discipline and merit rather than mere inheritance is not a man to be dismissed out of hand, whatever his mother's origins…"

"What side are you on now, Papa?" you interrupted, and you could not entirely erase the desperation from your voice even if you tried, "not a moment ago you told me that you did not wish for me to marry a man with commoner blood in him. Now you tell me he is respectable and a man not to be dismissed? Which is it?"

"He can be an exception," your father said, "with his Captain's title earned through service, and the Dukedom restored to him by right of blood, whatever the circumstances of his birth and his father; his father was once a most respectable man indeed."

Something in you went very still, "Did you know his father?"

Your father's expression changed, so subtly but you caught it, "I did," he said, and his voice had gone quieter, it was a topic that clearly has been left untouched and undisturbed for many years, "he used to come to this house often, in the years before you were born. Duke Jeon the elder was close friends of ours once, Cecily and I both, though I doubt you would recognise the name from anything but rumor and scandal now. We dined together, the three of us, more evenings than I can properly count... before what he did."

"Before what, Papa?" you pressed him for answers when he did not immediately continue.

"Before he threw it all away.." he finally answered, "..on a commoner girl who caught his eye at some harvest festival, of all the foolish, unremarkable places for a Duke to lose his senses. I told him it was madness and no good could come of a match so far beneath his station. I warned him that the court would never forgive it, and his own children would pay the price for a passion he could have satisfied in a hundred different ways without ever making her his wife. He did not listen to me and married her within the year, and got her with child not long after. The whole of the court turned its back on him for it, myself included, I confess, though I have wondered many times since whether that was the wisest course."

"And did any good come of it?" you asked, even though you already suspected the answer you would be given. You already knew fragments of the House of Jeon’s history as it was a well-known scandal. 

"They were murdered," he answered calmly.

Your mother was surprised to say the least, to see her husband talking of the history of their friend out in the open, something he has never done outside of their bedroom.

Your father continued on, "Both of them were murdered though the details were never made public, and I confess I never pressed to learn them, a cowardly friend I was. The boy was left with nothing. There was no protection from the court since they never accepted his mother, no acknowledgement from anyone who might otherwise have taken him in and raised him as his birth deserved."

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For a long moment, none of you spoke. 

Your mother had even gone quite still and forgot her tea, she took a deep breath before saying, “Well, I heard much later, that he was raised first by the church, and then handed to the army, since neither the church nor the army seemed overly concerned with whose blood ran in him, as long as he could hold a rifle steady and follow orders.”

You felt sympathy stirring in your chest, sympathy for a man you have never once met, a soldier at that.

But curiosity began taking over you, "How did he receive his land back then Papa?" you asked, "if the court never accepted him? If no one would so much as take him in?"

Your father looked away as he answered, "There were a few of us, in those years, who fought for the late Duke of Jeon's son," he said, “fewer than I would like to admit, and I acknowledge that none of us did nearly enough, myself included. But we fought for Captain Jungkook to earn his land back; that was the only thing any of us could fight for then."

"You never told me that," you said, surprised at your father’s involvement in Captain Jungkook’s life.

"I did it for my late-friend and there was very little to tell," your father said as he reached for his tea at last, though it had long since gone cold, "grief and guilt can change what a man believes. I loved my friend yet that did not stop me from voting against his son’s inheritance twice before shame or something like it, made me support it the third time."

Your father sighed again before continuing, "it is old business, ____. Best left where it lies. Whatever small part any of us played in it does not undo the rough years he spent his childhood, or the years he spent earning back what should never have been taken from him in the first place."

"So do I still have to marry him?" you asked.

You had to give it a try because no amount of sympathy could ever make you abandon the quiet and unremarkable life you have planned for yourself. And you still did not want to be married to a soldier.

Your father let out an even longer sigh then. Edmund spent the better part of his life believing he had power, yet now, in his youngest daughter's presence, he had to admit out loud how little that power could help her when it mattered most to her.

"There is not much I can do about it, my dear," your father finally answered, “it is the Queen's request and one does not decline Queen Seraphine however much either of us might wish otherwise."

"And if I were to write to Her Majesty myself," you said, still insisting and hoping there was some way out of this, "and explain in whatever terms she might find persuasive, that I have no wish to be married at all?"

Your mother let out a small laugh, "Darling, no one writes to the Queen to decline her arrangement. You ought to write to thank her for her consideration, and you can only hope that the meeting itself somehow provides proof you two are an incompatible couple.”

"And if it does not provide me one?"

"Then you are to marry a Captain and a Duke," your father answered.

You did not find this especially reassuring and said nothing further, though now at least you understood your first meeting needed to show some serious incompatibility between you and the captain.

"Well," your mother said, sensing that there was no more to the conversation, "there is nothing more to be settled this time. Best we all go about our day and let the matter rest until his letter arrives with the details of the first meeting."

Your father grunted in agreement and retreated behind his newspaper once more, though you noticed he did not turn a single page of it for the better part of twenty minutes.

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The study at the Jeon townhouse was not, by any measure, a small room.

Jungkook made certain of that when he took possession of the house. It occupied half of the western wing of the second floor, its ceilings high, its windows tall and heavily curtained that there was almost no sunlight that could shine through it. The walls were lined with floor to ceiling bookshelves filled with volumes on military strategy, law, taxation, fantasy, even romance, and many other genres that Jungkook had read cover to cover. 

It was a room made for gatherings like this. Ten of them, the leaders of the rebellion, or revolutionaries as they preferred to call themselves, sat around a table that had once hosted formal dinners for the late duke’s political allies.

Jimin sat on the right side of Jungkook with a stack of correspondence in front of him that he has been sorting into three different piles. 

Seokjin, a senior officer of Jungkook’s regiment, claimed the chair nearest to the fire, which he always does every single meeting without fail.

Dennis, Captain of another regiment, was sitting right next to Seokjin. 

Kilian, Captain of a different regiment was also present, sitting on the left side of Dennis.

Owen, a sergeant, sat on the floor with his back against the door and is the only man in the room who genuinely enjoyed the tedious parts of the work, the numbers that made everyone else's eyes glaze. 

The remaining four were scattered around the room in various states of attention: two senior officers from Dennis's regiment, a clerk named Hana who worked in the tax office and have spent the last four months quietly copying figures that did not match what Parliament had told its people, and the last person there was Walter, who ran an underground press.

“If the northern depot’s records are right,” Hana said, running her finger down the column, “then someone is stealing almost twenty percent of the supplies before they reach the soldiers. If a hundred crates are sent, only eighty arrive. Whoever is taking the rest is making a great deal of money and seems to be getting too comfortable.”

“The Duke of Pemberton is on the committee that approves the supply orders,” Owen said from the floor, “he’s been there for six years. Eighteen months ago, he built a new house in the east district, one far too expensive for someone earning his salary.”

“So he belongs on our list as well,” Dennis said.

“We can add him as a suspect,” Killian replied, “an expensive house is suspicious, but it proves nothing. All Dukes purchase expensive houses now and then. We still need to find concrete evidence that he is on it, then we will go after him.”

“We need to find a way into that secret meeting the nobles and politicians attend,” Seokjin said frustratedly, warming his hands without looking up, “the one we still haven’t managed to infiltrate.”

None of the revolutionists have ever managed to enter the secret meeting. 

Over the years, they pieced together what little they knew from servants and commoners who overheard fragments of conversation, from intercepted letters that were carefully resealed, and from a coachman Walter had spent nearly a year befriending. 

The men who attended the secret meeting were not all nobles or members of Parliament, but every one of them was wealthy, powerful, or well connected.

These men shared one belief: the kingdom’s existing order benefited them and they would do whatever was necessary to protect it. Nothing said in the room was ever repeated outside it, none of their decisions ever appeared in official records. 

Yet they quietly paid informants, bought people’s silence, and destroyed reformers who threatened them, sometimes financially and sometimes by far worse means. As far as the revolutionists could tell, this group was behind much of the corruption they have spent years trying to expose.

“We’re not going to solve the supply theft tonight,” Jimin added, “and Walter’s letter can’t be published until we confirm the figures with at least two more sources.”

Kilian interrupted Jimin as he pointed a finger at the letter lying in the corner of Captain Jungkook’s desk, “So, are we going to discuss it or keep pretending none of us have noticed it sitting there for the past half hour?”

Every head in the room turned towards Jungkook's desk.

The letter has, in fact, been sitting exactly where Jungkook left it when he cleared the desk for the meeting, its broken seal catching the light just enough to be noticeable to anyone who happened to glance in that direction twice, which evidently everyone did at some point.

Seokjin sat forward immediately, "I was going to mention it eventually," he said, "but yes, thank you, Captain Kilian. There is, in fact, an elephant on this table that I would very much like it addressed. Why is there a letter from the Crown sitting on your desk, Captain Jungkook? One that you have very deliberately not brought up once in thirty minutes?”

"It is not relevant to tonight's business," Jungkook answered.

"Everything is relevant to tonight's business," Dennis said, "that's rather the entire premise of our weekly meeting, is it not?"

Walter, who rarely spoke first in these meetings, tilted his head towards the desk, "Palace seal," he said, "I'd know that wax anywhere, I've forged enough of it."

"You have forged the palace seal?" Owen repeated excitedly. 

"Twice. It was for a good cause both times,” Walter said, defending himself.

"Focus," Jimin said, though he was fighting a smile.

Jungkook sighed before picking the letter up off the desk and read it aloud in the same flat voice he usually uses to read out a report:

To Captain Jeon Jungkook, Duke of Jeon, Her Majesty Queen Seraphine extends her warmest regards to the Duke of Jeon, and takes considerable interest in writing to him on a matter she believes will be met, in time, with both understanding and gratitude. After the most careful and thorough consideration, Her Majesty has identified a match she believes to be well-suited to the Duke's temperament, character, and standing: Lady _____ Ashwell, youngest daughter of Edmund Ashwell II, Duke of Ashwell. Her Majesty is confident that the Duke will find in Lady Ashwell a woman of considerable intellect, strength, and steady character, qualities Her Majesty has long observed and believes will complement the Duke's own. It is Her Majesty's deepest wish that Duke and Captain Jeon consider this arrangement not as an obligation, but as an honour befitting a man of his distinguished service. The Queen has given this match her most careful consideration and has every confidence that both parties will find, in time, a connection well-suited to their respective characters, whatever unfamiliarity may exist between them at first. Her Majesty trusts the Duke will make arrangements to call upon Lady Ashwell at his earliest convenience, and requests that he communicate his intentions regarding the manner and timing of their first meeting to the Ashwell household directly. Her Majesty extends her confidence in the Duke's judgment and her gratitude for his continued service to the Crown. By Her Majesty's own hand,Queen Seraphine of the Kingdom of Leon

"OUR CAPTAIN IS GETTING MARRIED," Owen screamed out from the floor and the room erupted with noise. 

The two senior officers started pounding the table, Dennis let out something between a laugh and a whoop, and Hana was clapping her hands together though her face did not look entirely happy. 

"This," Jungkook said, dragging a hand through his hair, "is precisely why I did not want any of you to know."

"You cannot possibly have thought we would let this pass without comment," Kilian said delightfully, "you are the single most eligible bachelor this kingdom has produced in a decade and you are getting married."

“Can’t the Captain get out of this?” Hana asked. 

“Impossible, Hana. It is the Queen, hence making this arrangement a royal decree,” one of the two officers finally spoke. 

"So it's Lady Ashwell?" Jimin asked, once the noise and enthusiasm in the room had settled quietly. 

"Yes," Jungkook said.

Dennis sat forward, his arms still folded over the back of his chair, and something changed in his expression, "House Ashwell..." he said slowly, "that's… Jungkook, that's perfect!"

"I'm aware." Jungkook admitted.

"No," Dennis said, "I don't think you are. The Ashwell isn't just any house. The duke sits two seats down from Lord Pemberton in committee. His wife hosts half the gatherings the wives of every man on our list attend without fail every season. And…" Dennis tapped the table, once, twice, "...and he is exactly the sort of man who would be in that secret meeting. The meeting we've spent three years trying to find a door into."

"As I said, I am aware," Jungkook said.

"You'll be inside their territory," Dennis went on excitedly, “not as an outsider begging for an invitation. You will be there as a family. As his son-in-law. So you will need to go through this marriage no matter what."

Jungkook sighed. He had always intended to accept the arrangement. He understood the advantages, especially since no one has said that the marriage had to last forever. Once the revolutionaries achieved their goal, Jungkook could easily leave you behind.

"So you're going ahead with the marriage?" Jimin asked. 

"Yes," Jungkook answered. 

Seokjin let out a long dramatic groan and tilted his head toward the ceiling, “Ugh,” he said, “Captain J is about to marry a woman from House Ashwell, and even on their wedding night, he’ll probably be thinking about stolen supplies.”

"I will not spend a night with-" Jungkook was cut off before he could finish his sentence.

"Is it the four sisters?" Dennis asked, grinning now, any serious conversation was briefly set aside in favor of the considerably more entertaining subject of Jungkook’s arranged marriage.

"Yeah," Jimin said, “prettiest family in the city and half the regiment's been in love with one Ashwell girl or another since before I made Lieutenant. There was a whole season where three of my men wrote poetry about the second daughter and none of them would admit who was worse."

"It was Private Baek's," Owen joined in from the floor without hesitation, "he rhymed 'grace' with 'face' four separate times."

"Aren't three of them married already?" Walter asked, interrupting Owen and Jimin’s conversation.

"Two married, one engaged," Hana answered, "the one the Queen mentioned in the letter is the youngest of the lot."

Jungkook looked around the study, at the people who in ninety seconds have given him more information about his future wife than he managed to gather in the entire span of reading the letter twice. 

Jungkook sighed before he asked, "Does anyone in this room care to tell me what she actually looks like?"

The room fell silent.

Seokjin let out a sound as if he was about to deliver some bad news, “That is the one thing none of us can help you with. She rarely appears in public and her debut ball was held during the worst of the war two winters ago when half the city was still mourning, apparently only half of those invited attended. I don’t think anyone in this room has ever seen her clearly.”

"I've seen her at a distance," Walter unexpectedly answered as every head turned towards him.

Walter shrugged his shoulders, entirely unbothered by the sudden attention, "I delivered pamphlets disguised as a book order to the Ashwell house once, years back. And saw a young woman reading in the window as I left. I couldn't tell you much beyond that she looked like she would rather have been left alone."

"That is the single most useful piece of information anyone in this room has given me," Jungkook said.

"I try," Walter said, and returned his attention to his pamphlet.

"So, where will my Captain meet the woman he is about to use to bring down kingdom of Leon?" Seokjin asked, teasing his captain. 

"The park," he said.

The whole room went silent again.

"The park?" Kilian asked.

"Yes, Darlington Park. There is a fountain near the entrance, and I will be there at eleven, tomorrow morning."

"Jungkook," Kilian said, choosing his words carefully, "is it not customary, in matters such as this, to call upon the Lady's household first? To be received properly in the Duke's own home, to speak with him directly before ever being introduced to his daughter, to observe the courtesies that-"

"Nothing about this is customary anyway," Jungkook said, cutting him off and the way he said it showed that the subject was not one Jungkook would like to revisit again.

"Half the city walks through Darlington before noon," Jimin said, "Capt, you'll be recognised within the first five minutes."

"I'm aware, and I do not care," Jungkook said.

"Are you courting a scandal on purpose," Walter asked, genuinely curious now as he set his pen down, "or has that simply not occurred to you yet?"

"Scandal implies I have done something worth gossiping about," Jungkook said, "I intend to stand by a fountain and if anyone manages to make that scandalous, they are more imaginative than I've given this city credit for."

"You clearly haven't met my aunt, Captain," Seokjin said, laughing from his chair.

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"He has chosen the park," your mother announced that evening, holding a second letter that is shorter and considerably less ornamented than the first, "Darlington Park, specifically near the fountain by the east entrance."

"A park?" your father repeated, setting down his newspaper for the second time that day, "he does not intend to call upon this house first, to be received as any respectable suitor ought?"

"I suppose Captain Jungkook-"

"You may reject the park," your father said, cutting your mother off, "you may send word this very evening that he is to call here properly, as any man courting a Duke's daughter ought to conduct himself, rather than summoning her to sit upon a public bench like some servant."

"No," you said, before your mother could reply, and both of them turned to look at you with surprise, "I am fine with the park."

"You are certain?" your mother asked.

"Meeting him here would feel stranger than meeting him in a park full of strangers. In this house, I would be expected to pour tea, to smile at him, to behave as if I was pleased by the whole arrangement, all while the two of you sat nearby listening to every word I said and every word he said in return. In the park, at least, I might breathe without an audience."

Your mother thought about your justification for some time, her expression softening in a way you did not expect, "Well, If that is truly your wish, then I shall let the matter stand as he has proposed it."

"It is," you said as you reached for your book again, hoping that the conversation might now be permitted to end.

"You are certain it is not merely stubbornness speaking, darling?" your mother asked, unable to leave the matter entirely alone, “it would not be so terrible a thing to allow him to come here."

"I am sure of it, mother," you insisted. 

Your father lowered his newspaper enough to look at you, "She has a point, Cecily, let them meet on their own," he said, defending you. 

Your mother sighed and stood up to her study to reply to the Captain’s letter, leaving you and your book to whatever peace remained of the evening.

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The next morning, the sky was grey and looked as though it might rain.

You have dressed up for your first meeting with the Duke of Jeon in a pale lavender gown with short puffed sleeves, white satin gloves covering your hands, and a necklace of small silver pearls. 

Darlington Park seemed made for a morning like this. Its wide gravel paths ran beneath rows of trees and at the centre of the park stood a large fountain. Wooden benches lined the paths of the park, with many already occupied by elderly people reading newspapers and sitting beside their small dogs.

You were nearly to the gates with your lady-in-waiting, Daisy, who was two steps behind you with a basket she insisted on carrying even after you told her twice that it was unnecessary.

Then you stopped walking as a thought struck you out of nowhere.

You did not know what he looked like.

Nor, you supposed, did Captain Jungkook know what you looked like. 

The Queen's arrangement only involved a name,  title, and a letter full of warm and carefully chosen words about suitability and confidence in a match well-considered, but there was no portrait accompanying it.

Daisy, who was walking two steps behind you, was enjoying this particular errand a great deal. She noticed you stopped walking and paused as well, "Lady ____," she said, setting the basket down against her hip, "would you like me to accompany you until you have found Captain Jeon Jungkook? I could wait nearby, out of sight, should you wish it, and only come forward if-"

"No," you answered, resuming your walk before your nerves could fail you, "I should be able to find him just fine, Daisy. He is a soldier in uniform standing about in a public park. I imagine he will not be difficult to identify."

"Of course, my lady," Daisy said, although something in her tone suggested she was not entirely persuaded.

Then, after a moment spent catching up to your pace, she added, "just remember, Lady _____. He is the most handsome of all the men you shall find in this park today. You will notice him at once, my lady, whether you meant to or not."

You gave her a look, slowing your pace despite yourself, "And how would you come to know a thing like that, Daisy?"

"I accompanied Lady Margot to a ball last spring," Daisy said, visibly proud of the memory, "The Duke was in attendance that evening and every lady in the room noticed him, whether they wished to admit it or not. A fair number of the gentlemen too, though for rather different reasons, I should think."

You rarely attended balls yourself, having long ago perfected the art of coming up with excuses; a headache, a book left unfinished, a sudden stomachache; and so you have no way of confirming Daisy's account.

"I am quite certain," you said, with rather more confidence than you entirely possessed, "that I will manage to identify one man in a soldier's uniform among however many others happen to be strolling about this morning."

"Of course, my lady," Daisy said again, though she did not immediately turn to leave, "may I ask, my lady and forgive me if the question oversteps, are you very much dreading this morning?"

You thought about the question longer than you expected to, surprised that Daisy asked it at all and surprised that you found yourself having to think about the answer.

“Yes, I am,” you finally answered after a minute. 

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You followed the gravel path towards the fountain, passing a nursemaid pushing a pram and two elderly gentlemen cheerfully arguing over a chessboard balanced between their benches.

As you walked, you silently rehearsed what you might say to the man you already decided you would never ever marry, especially since you have never met him and more specifically because he is a soldier and a captain of a regiment at that.

So far, you have only prepared yourself to say:

“I will never marry you. I am told you are a captain and I confess I find very little to admire in that, considering how much war has already cost this kingdom and its people.”

You were repeating it in your head until you caught the smell of cigarette smoke.

It was faint yet still polluting the fresh morning air. So you followed the smell before you have entirely decided to, your feet moving ahead of your own consciousness.

And there, seated on a bench facing the fountain, with one arm draped along the back of the bench, was a soldier. 

You stared at him with irritation.

He was dressed in full formal uniform: a long, dark navy coat worn over a fitted black military jacket with a high collar and rows of silver buttons, while black leather gloves covered his hands.

The uniform made him impossible to be overlooked and passersby glanced at him twice before quickly looking away. Even his boots were polished to such a shine that you could not decide whether it came from military discipline or simple vanity.

He has not noticed you yet, or if he had, he gave no indication of it whatsoever.

His gaze was fixed on some point past the fountain, holding the cigarette loosely between two of his fingers as its smoke was dispersing into the grey sky.

You stood there a moment longer than you meant to before walking a few steps closer to the bench. 

"Of course," you said, the words coming out of your mouth before you could stop it, "it is one of you men in uniform, polluting the air people came here to breathe."

He did not answer, and did not even so much as glance in your direction, which irritated you even more than if he simply was just rude to your face outright.

"And you are rude, too," you continued as you saw no dignified way to retreat from this interaction, "do you imagine, because of that uniform you are wearing that you are owed better manners than the rest of us? or that you are somehow above the ordinary courtesies a stranger extends to you in a public park? Arrogant prick."

That finally earned you his attention. 

He turned his head slowly and looked at you with an expression that was maddeningly and infuriatingly unbothered by the accusation, "I am not certain what I have done to you my lady, to earn such a greeting," he said, and from the tone alone, you could tell he found the whole exchange more entertaining than insulting.

"Polluting the air," you answered as you raised your hand to count his offenses off with your fingers, "being involved in the war, killing innocent people. Shall I continue, soldier? or are these sufficient enough for one morning?"

"It is a public space," he said, "and I am smoking as far from the vulnerable as this bench allows.”

“The children,” he said as he pointed a finger towards where the children are, “you will notice, are gathered at the far side of the fountain with their nursemaid.”

“And the elderly gentlemen you passed on your way here,” he continued, pointing a finger at the gentlemen, “are a good twenty paces distant.”

“And as for the war, my lady, I would gently suggest that without soldiers such as myself, you would not be standing here at all. You wouldn’t be standing in a park kept safe enough for ladies such as you to stroll through unaccompanied on a grey Tuesday morning. There would be no city around this fountain for you to walk through so freely and no roads safe enough to bring you here, were it not for men willing to stand in war,” the soldier said, smiling at you. 

"Without any soldier," you said, refusing to let him think he won the argument, "there would be no war to begin with."

The soldier let out a laugh, "Of course," he said, rising to his feet as he brushed some cigarette ash from his sleeve, "a rich and noble lady such as yourself would not know anything of it, I imagine. You live in a bubble, my lady, and I confess I do not begrudge you the comfort of it but I would ask you kindly not to lecture men who understood war and what it actually means after living it.”

"I know enough to know that soldiers are a sore in society, glorified for deeds that should be shamed rather than celebrated,” you argued back, lifting your chin high, entirely unwilling to be the one to concede ground first.

He looked at you a moment longer before he stubbed the cigarette out against the arm of the bench, "What a waste of time," he said mostly to himself, and turned to walk away without so much as a farewell.

"Indeed," you said to his back, watching him take a few steps before you realised you might actually need his help, "Wait, soldier! Do you know which one of the soldiers in this park is Captain Jungkook? I do not recognise which of the soldiers he could be."

The moment he heard you, the soldier stopped walking.

Then he turned around slowly, and the expression on his face changed. It was as if he couldn’t believe what he just experienced. 

You might have been rude to him, but at least you were honest. You were protecting the air quality of the park from the dreadful and unhealthy smoke from his cigarettes. But you also understood that you deserved the look on his face that silently reminded you of everything you just said to him as you asked for help after insulting him. 

"Ah,” the soldier before you chuckled.

“Captain Jeon Jungkook, as it happens,” the soldier tilted his head ever so slightly, “is standing right in front of you.”

You stared at Jungkook as he stared back at you, and for a moment neither of you seemed inclined to be the first to acknowledge what had just occurred.

For one full second, you could not even breathe.

Was this really him? You thought to yourself. Was he really the Captain the Queen had written about with such warmth?

You spent the walk here rehearsing arguments for the Captain who turned out to have an infuriatingly composed face, watching you with the patience of a man waiting to see what you would do with the information he just presented to you.

And beneath all of it, there was a small and unwelcome thought. One entirely unrelated to anything you intended to feel this morning, the traitorous thought that Daisy was not wrong. You were so focused on his cigarettes that you completely overlooked the face attached to them.

In this moment, you admitted that you were the dumb one to ignore his facial features that definitely stood out.

You hated the thought that came to your mind. You hated that your mind agreed the Captain was handsome. And you despised it even more that you had to consciously force yourself to stop thinking that way. 

Jungkook thought you would greet him the way every other woman would introduce themselves to him.

Jungkook did not expect to be called an arrogant prick within the first thirty seconds of meeting the woman he was supposed to marry. Yet there was something in that unscripted introduction that had already crept itself into a point of interest he had no intention of examining further. 

Jungkook had to remind himself that you were just another piece on a board. It was only inconvenient and irritating that the piece had loud opinions. 

"You are Captain Jungkook," you repeated, mostly to hear how absurd it sounded out loud.

"I am," Jungkook confirmed.

"I find that hard to believe."

"Are you calling me a liar, Lady ______?" Jungkook asked as he smirked.

"You are truly Captain Jungkook?" You asked as your eyes scanned his face and body, "I would have expected a more... elegant man. Then again, you are a soldier."

"You wound me," Jungkook said, as he mockingly put a hand over his heart.

"I doubt that very much," you said, rolling your eyes.

“No,” Jungkook agreed, “I suppose words alone would not be enough. Still, I admire the effort.”

Jungkook walked towards you with his hands clasped behind his back. He looked as if your insult had barely affected him.

“What exactly were you expecting, my lady?” he asked, “I admit, I am curious. What does a duke’s daughter imagine when she thinks of a captain?”

"Someone who does not smoke in public parks," you shot back.

“That is a low standard. I could easily meet it by tomorrow,” Jungkook said.

“Someone..” you continued, “who stops others from embarrassing themselves, even if he finds it amusing.”

“Ah, that standard I have no intention of meeting. It was, indeed, very amusing,” Jungkook paused before giving you a bow, “allow me to introduce myself properly, since we seem to have done everything else in the wrong order,” he chuckled.

“Her Majesty has decided that we are exceptionally well suited to one another. I admit, after the last five minutes, I am struggling to understand why, but I am told the Queen is rarely wrong,” Jungkook said with an amused look that made you want to wipe that smug smile off his face.

He then inclined his head to introduce himself, “Captain Jeon Jungkook, the Duke of Jeon.”

You did not curtsy.

Your ears were still warm from your outburst, and you doubted you could manage such a gesture, “Lady ______ Ashwell,” you said flatly.

“Walk with me, Lady Ashwell.”

“I will not agree to walk anywhere with you,” you answered.

“No,” he agreed, “I know you do not want to, and neither do I. But I suspect you will anyway. Your lady-in-waiting is watching us very closely from the gate, and if you turn around and leave after only four minutes, she will report it to your mother by supper and your mother will then tell the Queen, and neither of us wants to receive that letter.”

He offered you his arm, “Ten minutes, my lady. One walk around the fountain and I promise I will not smoke.”

You looked at his arm and then looked past him towards the gate. Daisy stood exactly where he said, watching the two of you without even trying to hide it.

You sighed before finally accepting his offer, “Ten minutes,” you said, ignoring the arm he offered you, but began walking beside him anyway, “not a moment longer.”

“Understood,” Jungkook nodded. 

The Kingdom of Leon has an unwritten rule that's been around for hundreds of years. A rule that all nobles agrees on: that some people are born to govern and others are born to be governed.

The hierarchy starts with the Crown sitting at the top of it. And beneath the Crown, there are different tiers of statuses: dukes and marquesses right below the crown, followed by earls and barons. And at the very bottom of the ladder are commoners, the people nobles pretend to care about whenever they need to give a speech about the importance of serving the kingdom. 

At the top of the Kingdom of Leon sits King Aldric IV, a man who values tradition and the proper order of things. 

He loves being a King, or rather he loves the things he can gain by being one. He spends most of his time drinking instead of governing, and he does not believe any commoner deserves the right to a comfortable and high quality life. Still, to those who are not commoners, King Aldric appears to be a good King.

Beside him sits Queen Seraphine.

Queen Seraphine is not a simple woman. People who mistake her for one tend to discover their errors are difficult to correct. 

She has been a Queen for thirty-four years and has been actively managing the kingdom. She has no seat in the parliament or any vote on matters of taxation, land reform, or other policies that shape the lives of the people under her crown. But King Aldric listens to his Queen. 

She may not be present in the room when decisions are made, but most of the King’s decisions are hers. 

Queen Seraphine is mostly known for what some call an ‘ability’. The Queen, with the abundance of information she has on the nobles beneath her, loves to play matchmaker among them. The ladies of the court credit her with their marriages, alliances, and their daughters finding homes where they are comfortable and happy. 

Queen Seraphine does not consult the nobles in question and she never asks for their opinions about their matches. Yet the noble ladies all say Queen Seraphine has been right almost every time, which has made the idea of couples consulting each other before meeting or marrying feels like an unnecessary step to the Queen.

Queen Seraphine keeps records of every noble in The Kingdom of Leon that she organised by family name, all of them with scribbles of notes written by her. She ‘asked’ her husband, King Aldric, to make it law for every noble family to send a portrait of their children to the palace. 

Now, every time there is a new family member of age, their portrait must be sent to the kingdom no later than one month after they turn fourteen. When she receives their portrait, she puts it in her records, writing their names and personalities, which she knows from observing them or by having her ladies report to her during debutantes, balls, dinners, and other social occasions.

Allie. Third daughter of Baron Hermann, shy, considerable musical aptitude. Thomas. Second son of Earl Benedict, cavalry regiment, drinks far less than his father. Lady ____ Ashwell. Youngest daughter, excellent education, avoids social engagements, has strong opinions about soldiers.

Queen Seraphine has arranged twenty marriages in thirty years, and most of them have flourished into something she is proud of. The nobles think she is doing a wonderful job of it too. 

This morning, the Queen is faced with two files of nobles she wants to matchmake.

The first belongs to Captain Jeon Jungkook, who is also the Duke of Jeon. 

She opened his file first because she liked to begin with whom she knew most clearly. What she knows is that Jungkook is exceptional, though his bloodline is quite concerning. Jungkook is the youngest Captain in his regiment. He is disciplined and socially well-loved. To the Queen's observation, Jungkook understands how to read a room, how to give a woman just enough of a smile that she feels singled out, and how to reject ladies' invitations with a charm that does not leave them embarrassed. Because of the way he acts, most ladies find Jungkook irresistible.

The Queen knows Jungkook is lonely.

She is confident he does not know this about himself, or if he does, he simply ignores his own loneliness. She has watched him from a distance, at regimental dinners, at the palace, at a funeral last autumn where he was the only person present who did not show his grief, and she has concluded that Captain Jeon Jungkook is a man who has become so accustomed to keeping everyone at a particular distance that he has forgotten, or perhaps never learned, what it feels like not to.

This is, in the Queen's estimation, a problem that is easy to solve but requires the right person.

So she moved on to the next file.

Lady ____ Ashwell. Youngest daughter of the Duke of Ashwell, she is twenty-two years old. Educated considerably beyond what most families bother with for their daughters. The duke of Ashwell, to his credit, believes in education for all his children, especially since all he has is daughters. The youngest has taken her education with such seriousness that it impressed even the written reports of the woman who taught her. 

Lady ____ Ashwell speaks three languages, has read most of the collection in the public library, rarely and reluctantly attends social engagements, and has been described by the Queen's sources as quiet and reliable, with strong opinions about the war and soldiers.

The Queen has put this match between you and Jungkook on hold for some time now. She considers whether she is being selfish to the two young adults, whether this impulse to arrange and connect lovers is about them, or about herself and the satisfaction and pleasure of being right.

The Queen shook her head, and thought the outcome was more important than the motive. And she had successfully matched twenty couples before.

She then picked up her pen and wrote two letters. To her, Jungkook is the kingdom's golden soldier; disciplined, eligible, and increasingly inconvenient to have unmarried. He needs someone to come home to, and the Queen has found him exactly that.

To her, you are a duke's daughter quietly growing restless at being the only daughter left at home. You are intelligent, unconventional, and need to be taught the importance of war and soldiers. And the Queen has found the perfect match for you.

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The Duke of Ashwell's Enmore townhouse is located on Martin Street. 

The Duke himself, Edmund Ashwell II, is a man with a considerable number of properties and a political presence.

He is at his club most evenings, at Parliament most days, and in the country house on the weekends he doesn't spend time at the club. He is not an unkind man, but he is known as a man who loves his daughters and is willing to go to great lengths for them.

His wife, Cecily, the Duchess of Ashwell, is a woman involved in a tremendous number of social organisations and has opinions about everything. She manages the Enmore house, the family's social calendar, the maintenance of four daughters' lives and reputations, and the ongoing challenge of being married to a man who constantly reads the newspaper at breakfast without speaking to her.

Edmund and Cecily have four daughters.

Lady Medea, the eldest, is married to the Earl of Kim. She lives in the Kim estate in the north. She is dazzling and brightens up every room she enters.

Lady Ariel, the second, is married to a Viscount three years ago and lives with him in a house in the country that she has described in letters as peaceful.

Lady Margot, the third, is currently engaged to a Baron of Rohan and is spending the engagement as if she was a woman who has finally found her purpose in life, which is to say she is very busy choosing which flowers and fabrics suit her wedding best.

And then there is you. The youngest and quietest one, with the habit of disappearing when people try to have a conversation with you.

Your uncle, Lord Hargrove, has described you as a smart girl who has read more than most men in Enmore yet lack the manners to keep them from feeling uncomfortable about it.

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There is cruelty in being chosen, especially when you never wanted it in the first place.

You are the youngest daughter of the Duke of Ashwell, which means you were born into a world that expects you to be agreeable and conveniently invisible until the moment you become useful. You are, by most accounts, a ghost with good posture. You rarely attend parties if you can somehow come up with an excuse. You do not start conversations because you believe silence will suffice, you take your tea alone, and have decided that a quiet life would be the perfect one for you.

You do not hate much except war and soldiers. You hate what it does to people, the way it takes innocent lives. You hate how the men who took these lives return to the country being celebrated. You hate the glorification of it, the women who swoon over a man in uniform without thinking about what the uniform is for. You also hate that the papers call soldiers heroes.

Most of all, you hate that no one seems to think it's strange that being a soldier is even an option.

You were reading in the library at the Ashwell mansion when your mother barged in, disturbing your peaceful afternoon. But this in itself is unusual.

Your mother does not usually seek you out as she only finds you when she needs you: for formal dinners, for the rare parties she insists you attend, or the occasional presentation of eligible bachelors who take one look at your silence and conclude that you are either very mysterious or simply uninteresting. She has long since given up trying to match you with someone else. And this makes her appearance inside the library, with an expression of excitement and something else she is working very hard to conceal, immediately alarming to you.

Your mother is holding a letter. The seal, you notice from across the room, is not one you recognise at first, but when you finally squinted your eyes to look at the seal, you realised that you do recognise it.

"Sit down, darling," your mother said.

"I am sitting down," you replied. You are, in fact, in the window seat with your book on your lap, “what is it?"

She walked across the room and held the letter out to you.

You took it from your mother’s hands, read it once, and then read it again, because the first time reading the content simply cannot have been accurate, your eyes probably read it wrong.

“Her Majesty extends her warmest regards to the Ashwell family and wishes to convey, with the deepest affection for your youngest daughter's wellbeing, that Her Majesty has identified a most suitable arrangement…”

You stopped reading at ‘arrangement’ and looked up at your mother, "it is a letter from the Queen," you stated.

"Yes," your mother said, nodding her head at you.

"She has arranged a marriage… for me?" you asked, needing to ensure that you read the letter correctly.

"She has…" your mother said, carefully choosing her next words, "suggested an arrangement with a great deal of warmth and what I believe is genuine care and enthusiasm for you."

"Who is he?" you said quietly, not wanting your mother to think you were looking forward to this arrangement.

"It's the youngest Captain of all! Duke Jeon Jungkook!" your mother said excitedly.

You have heard his name before. You even know of his regiment, know the irritating reputation that follows him into rooms, and the way women and men orbit around him.

A Duke and a Captain, of course.

"Absolutely not," you said.

"____!" your mother called out.

"Mother," you set the letter down on your lap, "I will not marry a soldier."

"He is a duke first before a soldier," your mother argued.

"He is still a soldier. I will not marry, especially not to a man who participates in murdering innocent lives," you replied.

Your mother sighed, "Without soldiers, you will not have this roof over your head, young lady."

"Without their participation in the war, there would be no war, mother."

"Well, what am I to do? It is the Queen's request! If we decline, your father's reputation, the reputation of House Ashwell, will be doomed! Just meet him once. If you do not find him suitable, then we will request an audience with the Queen," your mother said, almost pleading.

"Fine," you sighed in defeat as you knew your mother would not let you have your way, especially since Queen Seraphine was involved.

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Jeon Jungkook received his letter on the same day you did.

He was in his office at the garrison, halfway through a supply and logistics report with a cup of coffee that had gone cold twenty minutes ago, when his aide, Lieutenant Jimin, set an envelope very carefully and mindfully on Jungkook’s desk. This was Jimin's way to tell Jungkook that the envelope was a letter from the royal family.

Jungkook took a glance at the envelope and sighed. He decided he would finish his cold coffee first before opening the letter from the Kingdom of Leon.

When Jungkook finally opened the letter, the words on the page were so unbelievable that he had to read them twice before he could accept they were real. He set the letter down on the table, leaned back in his chair, and dragged a hand through his hair in frustration.

Jungkook has spent years arranging his life into something that suits him. Now, with a single letter, Queen Seraphine had made it clear she intended to alter it without leaving him any room to refuse. Jungkook did not welcome the decision with open arms. He was frustrated, but he also knew his place, and how little power he truly had to challenge hers, at least for now.

Jungkook is twenty-six years old. The youngest Captain in his regiment, a distinction earned through his intelligence, physical capability, and competence that his commanding officers have described as impressive, unnerving, and exhausting to be around when he is right, which is most of the time.

Jungkook thinks clearly under pressure, makes decisions quickly, and does not second-guess himself because second-guessing is a luxury that costs his men their lives.

But Jungkook is also socially fluent. He is funny when he wants to be, good at parties and dinners. He knows which lord needs flattery and which ones need to feel challenged. He knows which woman in a ballroom has been ignored all evening and exactly how much attention it takes to make her feel seen.

Women flock to him and Jungkook lets them, because letting them costs him nothing and refusing them costs him intelligence. The woman who thinks she's winning his attention is the woman who tells him everything. And knowledge is exactly what Jungkook needs.

He has received marriage offers before, fathers pulling him aside at dinners, mothers cornering him at parties or debutantes. Jungkook has declined them all with a grace so smooth no one ever realised they had been refused until he was already out of their sight.

But one simply does not decline a queen.

Jungkook read the letter a third time and more slowly this time.

“...it is our deepest wish that Duke and Captain Jeon consider this arrangement not as an obligation, but as an honour befitting a man of his distinguished service. The Queen has given this match her most careful consideration and has every confidence that both parties will find, in time, a connection well-suited to their respective characters…”

Jungkook had no idea what you looked like. He knew the name and title you carried as the youngest daughter of the Duke of Ashwell, and he met your sisters at balls and other parties, but not you. He just knew you had a good family with an old and powerful title, but beyond that, he knew nothing.

Jungkook was a Duke by birth, but his mother had been a commoner, a fact the palace never allowed anyone to forget. Before Jungkook turned five, both she and the old Duke of Jeon were murdered, leaving Jungkook without protection in a court that never approved of his parents' marriage.

The palace resented that his father had taken a commoner as his wife and given her a son. Though Jungkook carried the Jeon name and title by right, neither the court nor the nobles were willing to acknowledge him as Duke.

He had to earn their recognition the hard way.

Jungkook rose through the ranks of the military, proving himself in service long before the palace was forced to accept his position. Even then, his lands were not restored to him until he was formally recognised as a Captain.

He had never known the warmth or luxury that you lived your life with.

Jungkook was raised in a church, which then sent him to the military at thirteen in the hope that the abandoned young duke might find a future there. From then on, he had fought for every part of his life: climbing through the ranks in the military, teaching himself the etiquette expected of a noble, and learning how to survive among people who regarded his birth as a stain on his name. 

But behind closed doors, with only his most trusted men beside him, he also worked quietly towards reforming the caste system that had taken so much from him.

Which was why even when he was frustrated at this sudden 'arrangement,' he simply did not care about the marriage. You would just be another useful and well-placed piece on his chessboard, one piece among many.

Jungkook has thirty-seven names on a list tucked inside the pocket of his uniform: royals, nobles, lords, industrialists, members of Parliament, each with a deep interest in preserving the Kingdom of Leon exactly as it was. These names believed wealth and status should remain inherited, protected by bloodlines and old titles. They had no concern for poverty, no sympathy for commoners, and no intention of allowing the structure that benefited them to change. and this marriage would put him closer to some of those names than he had ever been.

But there was a second reason, one that had nothing to do with reform.

House Ashwell had old ties to the palace, and to men in Parliament who had supported the Crown's decision to have Jungkook's parents murdered.