The post in Drelantia had already been offered to me twice.
It was no punishment, no exile. It was one of the family’s most difficult assignments—overseeing business and negotiations at the eastern border, where several syndicates crossed paths and every deal came wrapped in risk. Anyone who handled Drelantia well came back with influence, respect, and a seat much closer to power.
I had turned it down before.
Both times for the same reason.
My life was here.
And once, that had been true.
Cassian had already announced our engagement before the families. Once we were married, there would be joint responsibilities, formal appearances, a household of our own, maybe even children. I had imagined that future so many times that I never noticed how much of myself I was giving away to protect it.
The consigliere looked up when I entered.
“Have you truly decided against Drelantia?” he asked. “This is the last time I’ll put your name forward.”
I said nothing at first.
Sunlight fell in long slants across his desk, over stacks of files, sealed envelopes, and one folder set apart from the rest.
Mine.
Inside were the transfer papers, already prepared.
Two years.
That was all.