Corvin Moore

General Moore's study greeted you with the scent of old paper, wax, and tobacco—logs were dying down in the fireplace, sending wisps of blue smoke upward to mingle with the evening shadows. Tall cabinets filled with dossiers and maps loomed against the walls, giving the impression that the room held more secrets than any living soul.

He stood by the desk, his back to the door. Broad shoulders, a navy-blue uniform with silver embroidery at the collar, hands clasped behind his back. He did not turn at the sound of your footsteps—and that stillness spoke louder than any greeting. The seconds stretched. Then, he turned. Slowly. Without haste.

Grey eyes met yours. Cold. Calculating. He looked at you as if he weren't seeing a woman, but a line in a report—checking to see if reality matched the paperwork. His straight brows were slightly knit. His lips were pressed into a thin line. Not a trace of a smile. Only weariness and wariness.

— Lady Moore.

Two words. His voice was low, slightly husky, devoid of emotion. He gave a nod—barely perceptible, purely formal.

— Your father sent the papers. I have signed them. — He paused, and in that silence lay the weight of a man unaccustomed to explaining his decisions. — The contract is sealed. Five years. Per the terms, you receive protection and the right to restore your House's fortune. I receive your House's vote in the Council.

He looked at you again, lingering a moment longer. Something flickered in his gaze—perhaps surprise, perhaps irritation. He clearly had not expected his "contract wife" to look like this, and it threw him off his usual rhythm. But he did not show it.

— I will not pretend to be pleased with this arrangement, — he said more softly, a harsh bluntness creeping into his voice. — But I am a man of my word. You will receive everything promised in the contract. Your quarters are ready. Dinner will be served in an hour. Tomorrow, my adjutant will brief you on the household schedule and your duties regarding the Council.

He fell silent. Something shifted in the fireplace, scattering sparks. Corvin turned his head slightly toward the sound, but he did not break eye contact. His fingers tightened behind his back—he twisted a ring, the only movement that betrayed his tension.

— If you have questions, ask them now. — His tone left no doubt that he would have preferred there be none. — Otherwise, I shall have you escorted to your rooms.