6. Contracts And Other Romantic Preemptions #2
“Our audit?” My head began to throb. Thank the goddess Settie had agreed to look after my booth until lunchtime. It seemed jumping through legal hoops would be a job and a half.
“Please discuss any details with your High Arbiter. Neeeext!"
I snatched up the paper, the ink still tacky beneath my fingers.
Ke?lhem
“Sit, please,” Cholerius said. His voice carried the crisp precision of an aristocrat who’d never needed to raise his tone to be heard. Being one myself, I knew the type well.
I took the chair to the right of the desk, whilst Elian slid into the one beside me.
As an officer in the Royal Elven Forces, I’d spent half my life dealing with arbitrary regulations, convoluted supply logs and the endless wheel of military bureaucracy.
I knew clerks, paper trails and red tape.
Quill-pushers were the same no matter the plane of existence.
The best way to deal with them, blackmail aside? Grit one’s teeth and endure them.
That said, I couldn’t help but approve of Cholerius’s desk.
The cherrywood surface remained organised in impeccable order, stacked with impressively aligned ledgers, pristine inkwells and a single silver tray.
On that tray sat a porcelain bowl filled with ripe, zesty pomegramons—the hybrid variety cultivated exclusively by Fern, as I found out the previous day.
“Well, Elian,” Cholerius began, his gaze drifting towards the fruit.
For a fraction of a second, the frostiness on his sharp face thawed, replaced by a flicker of emotion before his composure refocused.
“I have heard about the course of legal defence you settled on. Very crafty. That loophole… I must admit Verity knows his statutes. What a pity he has no interest in becoming a High Arbiter. A waste of rare talent.”
The compliment, delivered with a dry, bloodless cadence, might as well have been an execution order. Both contained equal enthusiasm.
Elian cleared his throat. “Right,” he said. Looking rather nervous, he presented our stamped and registered paperwork.
Cholerius picked up the contract and scanned the purple thumbprints with a critical eye.
“Hm. This is all in order,” he confirmed, sounding mildly disappointed by the fact.
“I shall keep your counsel informed regarding the remaining two charges, but for now, you are free and unrestricted. Please exercise moderation and restraint in your magical actions from now on.”
He reached into a drawer and slid a sheet of lined parchment towards us. “Commander, if you intend to help out at your husband’s stall, you need to apply for a permanent residency permit by submitting this 4-GH Form.”
Husband.
The word struck me right in the chest, sending a strange, heavy bolt of heat straight to my core.
It was the first time anyone had used that title aloud in reference to Elian.
A fierce, unexpected surge of pride and excitement bloomed beneath my ribs.
By my side, Elian made a skittish move, then stiffened.
His cheeks turned a spectacular shade of crimson as he exchanged a brief, startled look with me.
“It will be granted automatically based on your contract of matrimony,” Cholerius continued, unaware of our internal crisis. “A mere formality, but the application must be completed, signed and filed today. I prefer my records seamless.”
No shit.
“I’ll do it,” Elian blurted. He reached for the quill and pulled the form towards himself.
I offered him a small, grateful nod. Given that I couldn't decipher a single letter of Everend’s squiggly alphabet, his taking care of it made a practical sort of sense.
Yet, as his fingers flew across the page, a quiet thought took root in my mind: I would need to learn how to read and write if I were to survive here.
I still viewed my presence in this world as a temporary deployment, but my brain was somehow already mapping out a longer tactical timeline.
“Now for the final administrative hurdle,” Cholerius said, straightening the silver tray underneath his clearly cherished pomegramons that didn’t need straightening one bit. “We need to appoint a date and time for your Spousal Audit.”
There went that absurd terminology again. “What is that?” I demanded, leaning forwards.
Cholerius offered a thin, rationed smile.
“Due to the specific loophole you have utilised under the Doctrine of Union Restoration, the municipal authorities must be thoroughly satisfied that this is a genuine relationship, not a fraudulent sham calculated to evade your punishment.
We shall require absolute proof of a shared domestic reality.
Co-habitation, the division of daily household chores, an intimate knowledge of each other's habits, history and… personal preferences.”
That sounded like an intrusive interrogation, the sort designed to trap applicants with ridiculous, prying questions about which side of the mattress they slept on.
“Cholerius, isn’t that a bit much?” Elian protested in a voice that rose half an octave. “We’re in the middle of the busiest market period of the season. I have stock to prepare, accounts to maintain, matchsticks to—”
“Regulations, Elian,” Cholerius tapped on the desk. “Regulations must be adhered to at all times. And we do want everything to be entirely legal and proper, do we not?”
Defeated, Elian scribbled his signature and slumped back into his chair.
Cholerius accepted the completed residency form, co-signing it with a swift, elegant flourish. “I have scheduled your audit in five days.”
Dejected, Elian asked, “Who will be conducting the examination?”
“Myself,” Cholerius clipped out. “The interview will be recorded for the archives by one of our magical scribes. Prepare yourselves well, is my advice. I need to be entirely certain of your union’s legitimacy or else the original kidnapping charge will be reinstated at once. Good day, Elian.”
As Elian began gathering our documents, my eyes drifted toward a massive, detailed map of the market square pinned to the wall behind the High Arbiter’s chair. My training overrode the bureaucratic boredom as an idea popped into my head.
“Your perimeter layout is a logistical bottleneck,” I observed, my voice cutting through the quiet office.
Cholerius paused, his quill hovering an inch above his inkwell. He glanced up, his sharp eyes narrowing as he examined me. “I beg your pardon?”
“The market square,” I said, pointing at the map. “The current zoning entirely compromises your supply lines. Yesterday, while trading, I made a few observations as to the setup of Astrology and Magic Services. According to my evaluation, the current infrastructure is highly inefficient.”
A small squeak escaped Elian. He sent a panicked look my way in an attempt to shut me up, no doubt.
“Go on,” Cholerius murmured. He leaned back in his chair, his expression shifting from frosty dismissal to curiosity.
“I can’t speak of other sections, not having the occasion to assess them.
But the existing format at your AMS-Six area creates a severe fire hazard, to start with,” I explained, rising from my chair to step closer to the map.
“For instance, the spots here and here,” I indicated the relevant sectors, “experienced massive obstruction twice, once in the morning and then in the afternoon due to an overturned sugar cart. I’m told this is a regular occurrence.
This happens because the alleyways are too narrow and the queues entirely unruly.
In the event of a localised fire, your security forces would be unable to operate, never mind evacuate that zone.
There is a total lack of tactical space. ”
Elian stared at me open-mouthed.
Cholerius, however, appeared intrigued. He stood, joined me at the map and traced the bottleneck in question with his index finger.
“An astute observation, commander. We have struggled with the logistics of that specific junction for three seasons.
The sugar merchants refuse to alter their transit routes and times. "
“Then you enforce a one-way supply corridor through the northern palisade,” I countered, following a line along the map’s wooden frame.
“Clear away the secondary storage stalls here and establish a dedicated operational emergency area there instead. It fixes the infrastructure, prevents over-queuing and ensures your security detail maintains clear lines of sight.”
“You possess a remarkably efficient mind, Commander Renyés.” A flicker of respect dawned on Cholerius’ face.
“The security is currently managed by a group of city watchmen.
As hard-working as they are, they couldn't organise a feast in a tavern, let alone handle the busiest domestic trade centre. Hmm. Tell me, how would you feel about accepting a post as the Chief of Marketplace Security?”
Elian let out another strangled, breathless sound. His head snapped between the two of us as if we had both grown an extra set of heads.
I drew myself up, maintaining my best military posture. “My primary objective at present is to assist my husband with his trading stall. However… I am not entirely opposed to accepting the security command as a secondary post, provided it does not interfere with my domestic obligations.”
“Excellent.” Cholerius offered a curt nod of satisfaction. “We shall formalise the contract after your Spousal Audit. I look forward to its successful result.”
We shook hands on that and I turned back to Elian, who stood by his chair, seeming a little dazed. He cast a wide gaze at me, bewilderment and admiration both plain to see.
Winking at him, I took him by the elbow to lead him towards the exit.
Outmanoeuvring stiff officials wasn’t new to me. By making Cholerius personally invested in the outcome of our marital interview, we turned the bureaucratic machine slightly in our favour. As my lieutenant always used to say, It’s not who you know; it’s who you blow.