Chapter 28 Madeline
Madeline
Three Weeks Later
I stepped out into the marble hall with my chin already lifted, the way my uncles liked, the way my mother called “good posture”. The cream dress hugged too tight over my ribs to inhale properly. Will every step I took echoed with the reminder, I won.
The registry clerk met me halfway, tablet in hand.
“Final wording is locked,” he murmured, glancing up just long enough to meet my eyes. “Thorne–freight cross-control, codified under Article Twelve, Section C. Signature is on record. This goes to archive tonight.”
I gave a small nod, the kind that meant thank you and don’t linger at the same time.
The Veil drone slid in front of us. Hologram capture time. Of course.
“Councillor Thorne, Councillor DePout—if we can just—”
Atticus appeared at my side like he’d been conjured. Classic black suit, hands in pockets, tie slightly loosened now that formalities were over. His hair was pushed back carelessly, dark eyes moved over my face in a quick check before he offered me his arm.
I took it.
We turned toward the glowing Veil crest projected in the air.
Three, two, one. The drone flashed, capturing Atticus and me standing shoulder to shoulder, my cream dress and emeralds, his easy smile, the chamber doors behind us.
The system would package it with a caption about “historic cooperation” and blast it into feeds before we even sat down.
Veil loved symmetry. Tall DePout heir, Thorne negotiator in cream. A little dynasty propaganda for everyone’s lunch break.
I held the smile until the drone drifted away.
The second it did, my mouth relaxed and my shoulders dropped a fraction.
“Congratulations. That was brutal and beautiful. They’re going to be quoting you in training modules for the next decade.” Atticus murmured, low enough the clerk pretended not to hear.
“God, don’t curse me like that.” I exhaled slowly. My ribs protested against the dress. “I can practically hear them already. ‘At twenty, Madeline Thorne argued—’”
“—‘that legacy is a long game and ship routes are bones, not blood.’” His grin flashed. “You were poetic as hell in there. Even my father was impressed. He pretended not to be, obviously, but I’ve learned to read the vein in his temple.”
My lips twitched. “High praise.”
We started down the hall together, footsteps echoing. Staff parted around us. Aides whispered. The Veil drone floated away, no doubt streaming my tight dress and Atticus’s profile to hundreds of thousands of people who would comment more about my shoes than the deal.
“Speaking of fathers,” Atticus went on, voice dropping again once we cleared the main cluster, “mine started talking mergers again.”
The word slid under my skin like ice.
I stared straight ahead. “Already.”
“He thinks the registry win makes you hotter property. His words, not mine. ‘Demonstrates long-term value, that girl. She’ll be a prime merger.’” His voice sank into an uncanny imitation. “Price of partnerships, son. We don’t get to stay selfish forever.”
“That was subtle. I’m assuming he meant you.”
“Of course. He dropped Kingsley, Adams, a new foreign name I’ve never heard said with so much enthusiasm, and then twisted the knife with ‘of course, the Thornes will need to consider a match soon as well.’”
“My father’s been quoting legacy a lot too,” My stomach did a slow, unpleasant turn.
“Tree of wealth. Bones of history. All his favourites. And my mother…” A humourless breath slipped out.
“She thinks if she keeps my plate empty long enough, someone will mistake me for delicate and scoop me up to decorate their crest.”
He glanced sideways. “She’s still pulling that shit?”
“She calls it discipline,” I murmured. “I call it a migraine.”
“That’s not discipline, Maddy.”
“Tell her that.” I shrugged, dress pulling tight across my chest. “Anyway, it’s working out great. Apparently I’m so terrifying, I am unmarketable.”
He stopped walking.
I had to halt too, the sudden lack of motion tugging my arm.
“What.”
“I’m joking, Mostly.”
“You just closed a freight contract half the chamber couldn’t land in five years. You’re twenty. There is nothing about you that screams ‘unmarketable.’”
“You haven’t been in my mother’s drawing room lately.”
He reached up and tipped my chin toward him with two fingers. “Listen to me. You’re not ‘marketable,’ you’re essential. There’s a difference.”
“It’s been quiet,” I hated myself, that I was admitting it out loud.“On the merger front. Nothing concrete. No formal interest. My father keeps… mentioning regions, but no one’s actually put anything in front of us. My mother keeps saying I’ve bullied all the heirs away.”
Atticus’s mouth twisted. “Or they’re scared they can’t handle the woman who yelled at three sovereigns and made them sign anyway.”
“That doesn’t help,”
He watched me, that serious older-brother look he’d perfected over years of growing up side by side at endless summers.
He picked up his tumbler and finished his drink in one mouthful.
“You know what my father told me? He said, ‘if we’re lucky, she’ll get a short merger. Two years. One heir. Then she can divorce and go play diplomacy somewhere that doesn’t threaten our stock.’”
Something in my chest went very still.
“Two years,” I repeated. “One heir. Then out.”
Atticus rolled his eyes. “He thinks that’s generous. Says your talent is wasted in another dynasty. Though he also argues that being a starter wife is beneath you.”
I swallowed around a knot.
“I have to be wanted for even that. Nobody’s knocking on the door yet. It’s starting to feel like maybe she’s right. Maybe I scared them off. Too loud. Too opinionated. Too… everything.”
He squeezed my arm. “Or maybe you haven’t met anyone worthy yet. Have you considered that.”
“I’m not sure dynasties do worthy. They do strategic. And starving.”
“For most daughters, maybe. You’re not most. You’re in there rewriting tariff law at twenty. You don’t get married just for legacy. You get… something else.”
Something else. Perhaps my something else was chambers and negotiations.
I thought of Vince’s hands at my waist, the sound of his voice when he said mine into my throat. Four days every month. Two weekends. That was all we stole from the world.
Maybe no one would put a contract on my father’s desk. And I could keep this. Two days of being ruined and worshipped and then twelve nights of being just a voice in someone’s ear.
“Is it wrong,” I asked before I could stop myself, “if part of me is… glad no offers are coming?”
Atticus studied me for a moment. Then his eyes went around the chamber. As if making sure no one was in ears shot. The Veil drone humming away in the distance.
“If nobody wants to tie their crest to mine, if I stay in this… weird, in-between, then maybe this is all it’ll ever be. These chambers. A lot of fights and my wins. My name in the archive and… nothing else. No husband. No heirs. Just me and the work and—”
And Vince.
Four days a month.
“That sounds lonely,” Atticus said softly.
“It sounds… safe,”
His fingers under my chin firmed. “You deserve more than safe.”
I tried to joke. “I’m not exactly a good advertisement for ‘more. My mother can’t even starve me into being desirable.”
“Your mother is wrong about a lot of things. She’s wrong about this too. You’re going to get something different. I don’t know what it looks like yet, but I know you. You don’t fit into standard boxes. You redraw them.”
Of course he would say something that caused tears to come. I blinked fast to hold them back.
Emeralds and tears didn’t mix; my mother would say it ruined the aesthetic.
“Okay, enough heavy Archibald. We’re going to be late for my celebration dinner.”
He offered his arm again.
I took it.