The candles in the master chambers of Silverwood Manor had burned down to nubs.
The desk looked like a battlefield where a paper army had fought and lost.
Marcus paced back and forth across the expensive rug.
He had walked the same line so many times he was fairly certain he was wearing a groove into the floorboards.
It was four in the morning and he had not slept even for a second.
"Okay. Let's review the client profile," Marcus muttered to himself.
He grabbed a quill and jabbed it at a large sheet of paper pinned to the wall.
It was a relationship chart. It featured crude stick figures.
At the center was Theo. Marcus had drawn a massive sword in his hand and a giant question mark over his head.
Surrounding him were the four "Target Demographics."
Seraphina. Catarina. Vivienne. Iris.
Marcus had drawn thick arrows pointing from the women to Theo.
Then, with aggressive strokes, he had crossed out the arrows pointing at himself.
"The objective is clear," Marcus told the empty room.
"The Demon Lord invades in three years. To stop him, the Kingdom needs a united front. The prophecy says the Child of Destiny unites them."
He tapped the stick figure of Theo so hard the paper tore slightly.
"Theo is the Child of Destiny. Therefore, Theo needs to marry these women.
Or at least form strong political alliances with them."
Marcus caught a glimpse of himself in the standing mirror.
He looked like a raccoon with a caffeine addiction.
His hair was a bird's nest. His eyes were wild.
"Problem," he continued, addressing his reflection. "The women are currently fixated on the wrong brother. Me. The mob character. The extra."
He groaned and rubbed his temples.
The headache was starting to throb behind his eyes.
How did this happen?
He just wanted to be a supportive brother.
He used his life coaching skills to help them with their personal issues. He listened. He validated.
Apparently, in this world, basic emotional intelligence was a rare and seductive super-power.
"Solution," he said, writing the words in bold, jagged letters on a fresh sheet of parchment.
OPERATION: REDIRECT.
He stepped back to admire his work.
It was a classic bait-and-switch strategy.
He needed to become the ultimate hype man.
Every time he spoke to one of the heroines, he would talk about Theo.
He would praise his strength. He would highlight his kindness.
He would make them see that the qualities they liked in Marcus were actually present in Theo, but better.
"It's simple marketing," Marcus whispered, a manic grin stretching his face. "I'm just rebranding the product."
He grabbed a fresh piece of parchment. He began listing talking points.
Theo's Sword Arm: Very strong. Reliable.
Theo's Destiny: World-saving potential.
Theo's Personality: Stoic. Mysterious. (Boring, but we can spin it).
A knock sounded at the heavy oak door.
Marcus froze. He spun around.
The door creaked open. A young maid peeked inside.
She saw the young lord standing in his nightshirt.
She saw the manic scrawling on the wall.
She saw the dark circles under his eyes and the ink stains on his fingers.
"Lord Marcus?" she squeaked.
Marcus pointed the quill at the stick figure of the elf.
"The romance flags are all wrong!" he shouted, his voice cracking. "If we don't fix the routing, the death flags trigger in Act Three!"
The maid flinched due to getting startled and maybe... fear.
She slowly backed out of the room and closed the door without a sound.
Marcus stood in the silence for a moment. He took a deep breath.
"Right," he said, smoothing his messy hair. "Time to get to work."
✧ ✧ ✧
Marcus arrived at the Royal Academy just as the morning bell rang.
His first target was Seraphina Ashwood.
As a magic instructor, she usually spent her mornings in the faculty office preparing for the day's torture sessions—or classes, as she called them.
He needed to intercept her before the students arrived.
He adjusted his cravat in the reflection of a trophy case.
He had practiced his opening lines in the carriage. He was ready.
He knocked on her office door.
"Enter," came her cool, composed voice.
Marcus stepped inside.
Seraphina sat behind a mahogany desk. She was grading papers with ruthless efficiency.
Her platinum blonde hair was pulled back in its usual severe bun.
She looked up. Her ice-blue eyes widened slightly.
"Marcus?" she said. "You are here early. Is something wrong with Theodore?"
"No!" Marcus said, perhaps too loudly.
He stepped forward and leaned against the doorframe. He tried to look casual, like he hadn't been awake for twenty-four hours.
"Theo is fantastic. Better than fantastic. He is exemplary."
Seraphina put down her quill. She frowned slightly.
"I see. That is... good."
"I was just watching him train this morning," Marcus lied.
He had been drawing stick figures, but she didn't need to know that.
"His dedication is inspiring. He wakes up before the sun. He runs ten miles. He swings his sword until his hands bleed."
He gestured vaguely with his hands to emphasize the sheer magnitude of Theo's dedication.
"He has the discipline of a king," Marcus continued, pushing the narrative.
"A partner with that kind of focus? That is rare. A woman would be lucky to have someone so committed."
Seraphina stood up. She walked around her desk, her movements graceful and fluid.
She did not look impressed by the description of Theo's training regimen.
She was looking exclusively at Marcus's face.
"Marcus," she said softly. "You look exhausted."
"I'm fine," Marcus said, waving her off. "But let's talk about Theo's emotional stability. He is a rock. A very handsome, destiny-filled rock."
Seraphina stopped in front of him. She reached out.
Her gloved hand touched his forehead.
The leather of her glove was cool against his feverish skin. Marcus flinched.
"You are warm," she murmured. "And your eyes are bloodshot. Did you sleep at all last night?"
"Sleep is secondary to the mission," Marcus said, leaning into the touch despite himself.
"The mission of realizing how great my brother is. Did you know he saved a kitten last week? He didn't, actually, but he would have if he saw one. That's the kind of man he is."
Seraphina sighed. It was a soft sound.
Her gaze softened, losing its usual professional edge.
"You push yourself so hard," she said. "Always worrying about him. Always trying to ensure his future."
"Well, yes," Marcus said. "He is the protagonist. I mean, the future of the family."
She stepped closer. He could smell the faint scent of old books and lavender that always clung to her robes.
"Your devotion to your family is admirable, Marcus," she said.
"Most noble brothers fight over inheritance. You fight for his happiness."
Marcus blinked. "Yes. Exactly. So you should date him."
Seraphina chuckled. It was a low, throaty sound that warmed the room.
"You are delirious," she said. "Go home, Marcus. Rest. I will keep an eye on Theodore for you."
"But—"
"I will watch him," she promised. "Because you asked me to."
She gently turned him around and steered him toward the door.
"Get some sleep," she commanded. "That is an order from a teacher."
Marcus stumbled into the hallway.
He felt a surge of victory.
She agreed to watch him. She admired the description of his devotion.
"Phase one complete," he whispered to himself, rubbing his tired eyes. "She's definitely interested."
Inside the office, Seraphina sat back down.
She pulled a small, leather-bound journal from her drawer.
She opened it to a fresh page.
He came to see me at dawn, she wrote, the quill scratching softly.
He was barely standing, yet he spoke only of his brother. His capacity for love is boundless. I must ensure he does not burn himself out.
She traced the name "Marcus" on the page, then closed the book with a snap.