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Bellafonte was peaceful in the summer.
Then again, Bellafonte was nearly always peaceful.
Golden sunflowers stretched across the southern fields, their broad faces turned toward a cloudless sky.
Beyond them, wheat rippled in the warm breeze while horse-drawn water wagons moved steadily between rows of tea plants.
Workers called to one another over the creak of wooden wheels and the occasional snort of an impatient horse.
In the coffee groves, farmers in wide-brimmed hats picked dark red cherries beneath the shade of glossy leaves.
Children splashed in the shallow ponds scattered throughout the countryside while their older siblings hurried between errands, market preparations, and whatever chores their families had managed to find for them.
There was no winter worth mentioning in Bellafonte.
The southern territory remained warm throughout the year, cooling only enough during the coldest months to make the mornings pleasant.
Today was no exception.
It was an entirely ordinary afternoon.
Which made the disaster unfolding inside the Bellafonte estate feel particularly unreasonable.
Aurelian Bellafonte stared at the letter on the small garden table before him.
Then he read it again.
He had already read it three times, and unfortunately, the words had remained the same.
The balcony outside his study overlooked the gardens, though Aurelian had stopped appreciating the view several minutes ago.
Behind him, the doors stood open to the study itself, where warm redwood furniture filled the room and ivy climbed freely along the walls between shelves crowded with books, journals, and newspapers.
Normally, it was one of his favorite places in the estate.
At present, he was considering whether jumping from the balcony would be socially preferable to answering the letter.
A porcelain cup appeared beside his hand.
Aurelian looked up.Vincente Blackwall stood beside the table with a teapot in one hand, his expression as composed as ever.
Chrysanthemum tea.
Of course.
Vincente had served him long enough to know when stronger measures were required.
Aurelian accepted the cup but did not drink from it.
“Did you read it?”
“I did.”
Aurelian looked back at the envelope beside the letter.
It was perfectly ordinary except for the wax seal pressed across its fold.
Dark blue.
A crescent moon.
He had recognized it immediately.
That had been the first problem.
“What do you make of it?” Aurelian asked.
He tried to make the question sound calm.
Vincente’s eyes flicked briefly toward him.
Aurelian suspected he had failed.
“The Duchess of Vaelmont wishes to court you.”
Aurelian blinked.
“Yes.”
Silence settled between them.
Aurelian waited.
Vincente waited as well.
Eventually, Aurelian frowned.
“Why?”
For the first time, Vincente seemed caught slightly off guard.
“I beg your pardon?”
“Why does she wish to court me?”
“I…” Vincente paused.
“I could not say, my lord.”
“Neither can I.”
Aurelian picked up the letter again.
Two sentences had apparently been sufficient to ruin his afternoon.
He read them once more.
‘I wish to court you for your hand in marriage.
Prepare yourself.’
Aurelian slowly lowered the page.
“It sounds more like a threat than a proposal.”
Vincente’s mouth moved.
Barely.
Aurelian narrowed his eyes.
“You are laughing at me.”
“I would never.”
“You are.”
“I am not.”
Aurelian stared at him for another moment before giving up and dropping his head into one hand.
Of all the women in the empire, it had to be her.
Duchess Seraphina Vaelmont.
Head of one of the empire’s great houses.
Commander of the royal knights.
Sister to the queen.
The Moon of the Empire.
And apparently, for reasons known only to herself, a woman interested in marrying him.
Aurelian looked down at himself as though some explanation might have appeared on his waistcoat.
None did.
He was Baron Bellafonte.
That was hardly an insignificant title in the south, but no sensible person would place it beside the name Vaelmont and pretend the two carried equal weight.
More importantly, Aurelian could not think of a single thing he had done that might have convinced Seraphina Vaelmont that marriage to him was a reasonable course of action.
He had met her only a few months ago.
His first season in Evelina had barely ended.
Surely he had not done anything that—
Aurelian stopped.
Several memories surfaced at once.
A moonlit veranda.
A bookstore.
Tea.
A dance.
His mother staring at him as though he had personally endangered the Bellafonte bloodline.
Aurelian closed his eyes.
No.
Those could not possibly explain this.
Could they?
He looked at Vincente again.
“May I reject her?”
“Yes.”
Aurelian sat straighter.
Vincente continued.
“You would simply have to inform Duchess Vaelmont that you have no interest in being courted by her.”
Aurelian imagined doing exactly that.
He imagined Seraphina’s pale blue eyes settling upon him.
He imagined the silence afterward.
He sank back into his chair.
“I see.”
“Would you like me to prepare a response?”
“No.”
Vincente inclined his head.
Aurelian picked up his tea at last.
It had already begun to cool.
His gaze returned to the dark-blue seal lying beside the letter.
He had gone to Evelina intending to survive one social season and return peacefully to Bellafonte.
Instead, the Moon of the Empire wanted to make him her husband.
Somewhere along the way, something had gone terribly wrong.
Aurelian pressed his fingers against his forehead.
How had this happened?