Marcus returned to the Roselle Duchy three weeks after their first meeting.
Officially, he was here to discuss the engagement details with Liliana present.
In reality, Catarina's last letter had worried him.
She'd mentioned being "busy with year-end reports" but the handwriting had been shakier than usual.
The letter itself was shorter. More distracted.
His life coach instincts screamed warning signs.
The duchy looked the same.
Militarily organized. Perfectly efficient.
But the servants who greeted him seemed more tense than before.
"Lord Marcus, welcome back." The steward bowed. "Duchess Roselle asked that you meet her in her office."
"At this hour?" It was past nine at night.
The steward's expression flickered. "Her Grace has been... working late recently."
That flicker told Marcus everything. The staff were worried too.
He climbed the stairs to Catarina's office, each step increasing his concern.
Light spilled from under her door. He knocked.
"Enter."
Marcus opened the door and immediately wanted to drag Catarina to bed.
Not in the fun way. In the "you clearly haven't slept in days" way.
She looked terrible.
Her perfect appearance had cracked. Hair still styled but with loose strands escaping. Makeup expertly applied but not quite hiding the dark circles. Her dress immaculate but wrinkled at the sleeves.
Most damning were her hands. They trembled slightly as she reached for a teacup.
"Marcus. Thank you for coming." Her voice was steady through sheer willpower.
"Please, sit. I have the engagement documents ready for review."
"When did you last sleep?" Marcus asked instead.
"I sleep adequately." She shuffled papers with mechanical precision. "Now, regarding the financial arrangements..."
"Catarina."
"The Roselle contribution will include a military escort and..."
"Put down the papers."
Her hands stilled. For a moment, she just sat there.
Then she set down the documents with exaggerated care.
"I'm managing perfectly well."
"You're swaying in your chair."
"I am not." But she gripped the desk edge to steady herself.
Marcus walked around the desk. Up close, it was worse. She was pale. Her breathing too controlled, like she was manually managing it.
The desktop was covered in reports.
Tax documents. Military requisitions. Trade agreements. Petitions from citizens.
All marked with her precise handwriting.
"How many hours have you worked today?" Marcus asked.
"I don't count hours. I count completed tasks."
"How many tasks?"
"Enough." She reached for another report.
Her hand shook badly enough that she knocked over an inkwell.
Marcus caught it before it spilled. Their hands touched briefly. Hers was ice cold.
"You're freezing."
"The office is drafty." But she pulled her hand back quickly.
Marcus looked at the fireplace. It was roaring. The room was warm. Catarina was just that exhausted.
"Our correspondence has been enlightening," Catarina said, forcing the conversation back to business.
"Your thoughts on delegation were interesting. Theoretical, but interesting."
"Theoretical?"
"In practice, delegating critical decisions is impractical."
"So you haven't delegated anything?"
"I've considered it."
Marcus looked at the mountain of paperwork. "You've considered it while doing everything yourself."
"That's temporary. Until I..."
"Until what? Until you collapse?" Marcus's voice sharpened. "Because that's what's going to happen."
Catarina's mask finally cracked. Anger flashed in her eyes. "I don't need a lecture, Marcus. I need to finish these reports."
"Why?"
"Because they're my responsibility!"
"All of them?"
"Yes!"
"The tax assessment for the eastern villages? That's something only you can do?"
"I need to verify the calculations."
"You don't have an accountant?"
"I do, but..."
"But you don't trust them to do their job?" Marcus pulled up a chair. "Or you don't trust yourself to let go?"
Catarina's jaw tightened. "You don't understand the weight of leadership."
"Don't I?"
"You've never ruled anything."
The barb hit. Marcus let it. She was defensive because he was right.
"You're correct," Marcus said calmly. "I've never ruled a duchy. But I've spent years helping people who are killing themselves for others."
"I'm not killing myself. I'm fulfilling my duty."
"By working yourself into the ground?" Marcus gestured at the papers. "How many hours have you slept this week?"
"Enough."
"That's not an answer."
"It's all the answer you're getting." Catarina stood, wobbled slightly, then steadied herself.
"I appreciate your concern, but I'm perfectly capable of managing my own schedule."
"Sit down before you fall down."
"I'm fine."
"You're shaking."
"I'm cold."
"You're exhausted." Marcus stood too, blocking her path to the desk.
"Catarina, when you write about duty and sacrifice in your letters, do you know what I hear?"
"Enlighten me."
"Fear. You're terrified of being seen as weak.
So you work yourself to death to prove you're strong enough."
Her eyes flashed. "That's not..."
"You're teaching everyone around you that a good leader destroys themselves.
Is that what you want Liliana to learn?"
Catarina flinched. "Don't bring Liliana into this."
"She watches you. Every day.
She sees her brilliant sister working until she can barely stand.
What do you think that teaches her?"
"That leadership requires sacrifice."
"That self-destruction equals worthiness." Marcus's voice was sharp now, clinical.
"You're showing her that caring for yourself is selfish.
That asking for help is weakness. That being human is failure."
"That's not what I'm teaching her!"
"Isn't it? When was the last time she saw you smile?
When was the last time she saw you rest?"
Catarina's hands clenched. "I rest when the work is done."
"The work is never done! That's the point!" Marcus gestured at the desk.
"There will always be more reports. More problems. More demands.
If you wait until everything is perfect, you'll never stop."
"Then I won't stop."
"You'll die."
The word hung in the air like a sword.
Catarina's perfect posture cracked slightly. "I won't die. I just need to..."
"Need to what? Work harder? Sleep less? Sacrifice more?" Marcus stepped closer.
"You're already at your limit. I can see it. Your hands shake.
You can't stand without swaying. How long until you collapse during a public meeting?
How long until you make a critical mistake because you're too tired to think straight?"
"I don't make mistakes."
"Everyone makes mistakes when they're this exhausted.
And yours will affect fifty thousand people."
That hit. Catarina's breath caught.
"You think you're protecting your duchy by doing everything yourself," Marcus continued.
"But you're creating a single point of failure. If you break, everything breaks."
"I won't break."
"You're breaking right now."
"I'm fine!"
"You're not fine! You haven't been fine for years!" Marcus's voice softened but stayed firm.
"Catarina, you inherited this duchy at twenty-two.
You've been running it like every moment of rest is theft from your people.
That's not leadership. That's martyrdom."
Catarina's breathing quickened.
"You don't understand. If I don't work this hard, they'll say a woman can't rule effectively.
They'll say my father was wrong to leave it to me. They'll say..."
"They'll say whatever they want regardless." Marcus cut her off.
"You can't control their opinions.
But you can control whether you destroy yourself trying to prove them wrong."
"I have to prove them wrong!"
"Why? For who?"
"For everyone! For the duchy, for Liliana, for..."
"For yourself?" Marcus asked quietly. "Or for a father who's been dead for four years?"
Catarina went pale. "Don't."
"Your father prepared you to lead. He trusted you. But he's gone, Catarina.
And you're still trying to earn approval from someone who can't give it anymore."
"Stop."
"You're allowed to be imperfect. You're allowed to delegate. You're allowed to sleep."
Marcus's voice gentled. "You're allowed to be human."
"I can't." Her voice cracked.
"If I'm not perfect, if I'm not working constantly, then what am I?"
"You're a twenty-six-year-old woman who's been carrying the weight of a duchy alone for four years.
That's enough. You're enough."
Catarina's perfect mask shattered.
Her breath hitched. Once. Twice. Then the tears came.
Not delicate crying. Full, gasping sobs that shook her entire body.
Years of held-back exhaustion and grief pouring out.
She covered her face with shaking hands.
"I can't. I can't do this. There's too much. It's too much."
Marcus guided her to a chair before she collapsed.
She sank into it like her strings had been cut.
"I'm so tired," she sobbed.
"I'm so tired and I can't stop because if I stop everything falls apart."
"It won't fall apart."
"You don't know that!"
"I know that you've built something strong enough to survive you taking care of yourself."
"I don't know how." The admission broke from her.
"I don't know how to not work. I don't know how to trust other people.
I don't know how to be anything except the Perfect Duchess."
"Then learn." Marcus pulled up a chair beside her. "Let me help you learn."
"Why?" She looked at him through tears.
"Why do you care? We barely know each other."
Because the world needed her duchy's military strength.
Because Theodore was supposed to form this alliance.
Because saving one person might save everyone.
But that wasn't the whole truth anymore.
"Because no one should carry this alone," Marcus said.
"And because someone should tell you that you're allowed to be tired."
Catarina laughed through her tears. Broken and bitter and real.
"The irony is I've been reading your letters every night.
Taking your advice. Planning to delegate."
She wiped her eyes roughly. "But I never actually did it. I just kept working."
"Why?"
"Because I was afraid. Afraid that if I let go of anything, it would prove I'm not strong enough."
"Strength isn't doing everything yourself. Strength is knowing when to ask for help."
"I don't know how to ask."
"Start with me." Marcus offered his hand. "Let me help you fix this."
Catarina stared at his hand. At the lifeline being offered.
Then she took it.
.
.
.
A/N:
My heart is currently powered by the faint hope of future Power Stones.
Don't let my battery die!
One tap keeps the creativity circuits buzzing.