Marcus woke up with the grim determination of a general sending troops into a battle he knew he shouldn't be fighting.
His bedroom looked less like a noble's sleeping quarters and more like the lair of a conspiracy theorist.
Parchment covered every available surface.
Maps of the Royal Academy were pinned to the walls.
Detailed charts of class schedules were taped to the mirror.
He had even calculated the sun's position at various times of day to maximize "golden hour" lighting.
Marcus rubbed his eyes. He looked at his masterpiece.
"Operation: Redirect was a failure," he muttered to the empty room. "Praise is not enough. Words are wind."
He grabbed his quill. He tapped a circle drawn in red ink on the map.
"We need action. We need physics. We need forced proximity."
In his previous life as a life coach, Marcus had seen this work a thousand times.
Put two people in a room. Lock the door. Wait for the trauma bond or the romance to form.
In romance novels, it was even simpler.
The "accidental" meeting was a genre staple.
The protagonists bump into each other. Time stops. Music swells. The wind blows through their hair. They realize they are soulmates.
"I just need to engineer the accident," Marcus whispered.
He looked at his diagram.
It was titled "The Eastern Pavilion Strategy."
It accounted for wind direction. It accounted for foot traffic. It accounted for the probability of Seraphina taking a coffee break.
"Physics," Marcus repeated. "If they occupy the same space for long enough, gravity will do the rest."
He ignored the fact that gravity usually just made things fall.
Down. Hard.
✧✧✧
Marcus found Theodore in the breakfast room.
The "Child of Destiny" was currently demolishing a stack of pancakes with the efficiency of an industrial woodchipper.
Syrup dripped from his chin. His eyes were focused on the food with intense concentration.
"Morning, Brother," Theo said between bites. "Good cakes. optimal fluffiness."
"Good morning," Marcus said. He sat down. He didn't eat. His stomach was too full of anxiety.
He slid a piece of paper across the table. It looked like a military briefing.
"I have a mission for you, Theo."
Theo stopped chewing. The fork froze halfway to his mouth.
His eyes lit up. The word "mission" triggered his protagonist instincts.
"A quest?" Theo asked. "Is it demons? Bandits? A rogue dragon?"
"A patrol," Marcus corrected. "A very specific, high-priority patrol."
Theo swallowed the pancakes whole. "Where?"
" The eastern training pavilion. At the Royal Academy."
Theo frowned. He tilted his head like a confused puppy. "Why? Is there a monster in the pavilion?"
"Potentially," Marcus lied. He hated lying. But he hated the idea of the apocalypse more.
"Or a very dangerous... situation. I need you to be there. Looking heroic."
"Heroic," Theo repeated. He puffed out his chest.
"Yes. Maybe practicing your forms. With your shirt sleeves rolled up. In the sunlight."
"Does sunlight affect the combat effectiveness?"
"It affects the... visibility. Of the threat."
"Ah." Theo nodded solemnly. "Optimal visibility. That makes sense. Darkness hides enemies."
"Exactly," Marcus said. "You need to be there at exactly the third bell. Not a minute sooner. Not a minute later."
"The third bell," Theo memorized. "Eastern pavilion. Shirt sleeves rolled up. Patrol for threats."
"And if you see Professor Ashwood," Marcus added casually. "You should talk to her."
"Talk to her?"
"Yes. About... things. Life. Dreams. Not swords."
Theo looked confused again. "But she is a instructor. Why would we talk about dreams? Unless she dreams about swords."
"Just... improvise," Marcus pleaded. "Be charming."
"I am always charming," Theo stated with zero evidence to support the claim.
"Right. Of course you are."
Marcus watched his brother stand up. Theo wiped the syrup from his chin.
He looked strong. He looked handsome. He looked like a hero.
"I won't let you down, Brother," Theo promised. "I will secure the pavilion."
He marched out of the room like he was heading to war.
Marcus slumped in his chair. He felt a pang of guilt.
He was sending a sheep to romance a wolf.
He was manipulating his brother. He was manipulating Seraphina.
"It's for the greater good," Marcus whispered to his cold coffee.
"Seraphina needs a hero. Theo needs a wife. The world needs saving."
He stood up.
"I should probably go watch. Just in case."
To ensure the safety of the mission.
Not because he wanted to see Seraphina.
Definitely not that.
✧✧✧
The eastern training pavilion was a masterpiece of ancient architecture.
Stone columns rose toward the sky. Ivy draped over the arches like green silk.
The afternoon sun filtered through the leaves. It dappled the stone floor in golden light.
It was perfect.
Marcus was hiding in a bush.
The bush was scratchy and it smelled like dirt.
Marcus ignored the discomfort.
He adjusted his position. He had a clear line of sight.
Seraphina Ashwood stood in the center of the pavilion.
It was her only free period of the day. Marcus had checked the schedule three times.
She was reviewing a stack of requisition forms.
She looked relaxed. Her shoulders weren't as tense as usual.
The sunlight caught her platinum hair. It turned the severe bun into a crown of silver.
She looked beautiful. Intimidating, yes. But beautiful.
"Don't look at her like that," Marcus scolded himself silently. "She's your sister-in-law. Future sister-in-law."
The third bell rang. It echoed across the academy grounds.
Right on cue, footsteps approached.
Heavy, confident footsteps.
Theodore walked in.
He looked impressive. Marcus had to give him that.
He had rolled up his sleeves as instructed. His forearms were muscular. He moved with the easy grace of a natural athlete.
From his hiding spot, Marcus held his breath.
This is it. The moment. Physics is happening.
Look up, Seraphina. See your destiny.
Seraphina looked up.
She blinked. Then she smiled.
"Student Theodore," she said. Her voice was professional but welcoming. "This is a surprise."
Theo stopped. He scanned the perimeter. He checked the corners for monsters.
Finding none, he relaxed.
"Professor," Theo bowed. "My brother said I should patrol... I mean, practice here."
"Practice is always encouraged," Seraphina said. She lowered her papers. "Though I usually reserve this time for administrative work."
"Oh."
Theo looked at the papers. He looked at the columns.
Then he looked at the practice sword leaning against the far pillar.
His eyes locked onto the weapon.
It was instant attraction. The kind of look a man gives his soulmate.
Unfortunately, the soulmate was a piece of steel.
"Is that a standard issue blade?" he asked.
Seraphina followed his gaze. She looked confused. "Yes. Why?"
Theo walked over to it. He moved like a predator stalking prey.
"The oil," Theo said. He stepped closer. He squinted at the steel. "It looks like standard linseed."
"It is."
"That's a mistake," Theo said gravely.
Marcus felt a cold sweat break out on his neck.
No. Theo. Don't do it.
"For this climate," Theo continued, his voice taking on a lecturing tone. "You want a blend of clove and mineral oil. Linseed gets gummy in high humidity."
Seraphina blinked. Her smile froze. "I am aware of the properties of oil, Theodore."
"But do you know about the application technique?"
Theo picked up the sword.
He didn't ask for permission. He just grabbed it.
"See this streak?" he pointed to a microscopic, invisible spot on the blade. "You're applying it with a circular motion. Rookie mistake."
Marcus buried his face in his hands. The leaves poked his cheeks.
Rookie mistake? You just told the combat instructor she made a rookie mistake?
Talk about her eyes, you idiot!
Talk about the weather!
Talk about literally anything else!
"You need to apply it linearly," Theo continued, warming to his subject. "With the grain of the steel. Otherwise, you trap micro-pockets of moisture."
He pulled a rag from his pocket.
Why did he have a rag? Who carries a polishing rag to a patrol?
Theodore Aldridge did.
"Here, let me show you."
For the next twenty minutes, Marcus watched a car crash in slow motion.
Theodore gave a lecture.
It wasn't a conversation. It was a monologue. A manifesto.
He covered oil viscosity. He discussed the merits of different polishing cloths (cotton vs. linen).
He debated the ethics of sharpening stones (whetstone vs. oilstone).
Seraphina stood there.
She nodded politely. She made appropriate noises like "I see" and "Is that so."
But Marcus knew that look.
He had seen it on clients when he talked about "synergy" for too long.
Her eyes were glazing over. Her soul was leaving her body.
She was a combat instructor.
She had killed people with magic.
She knew how to clean a sword.
She probably knew more about sword maintenance than Theo did.
But Theo was relentless. He was in his element.
"And the pommel," Theo was saying, gesturing enthusiastically with the rag. "People forget the pommel. It's the anchor of the soul."
"The soul?" Seraphina asked.
She sounded desperate for a topic change. "Do you mean metaphorically?"
"The soul of the sword!" Theo clarified, as if it were obvious. "If the pommel is loose, the harmonics are off. You can't fight with bad harmonics."
"Harmonics," Seraphina repeated flatly.
"Yes! Listen."
Theo flicked the blade. It made a ting sound.
"Hear that? It's a flat B-sharp. It should be a C-natural. The counter-weight is off by two grams."
"Fascinating," Seraphina said.
Her tone suggested that watching paint dry would be an adrenaline rush compared to this.
"I actually have a theory about pommel weighting," Theo said. "If you have a moment—"
He looked ready to draw a diagram.
Seraphina took a step back. It was a defensive maneuver.
"I'm afraid I don't," she interrupted.
She reached out. She took her sword back firmly.
"I just remembered I need to verify some... equipment requisitions. With the administration."
"Oh," Theo looked disappointed. "But we haven't discussed the cross-guard resonance."
"Another time, perhaps."
"Well, remember the linear motion," Theo called out. "It changes everything."
"I will certainly keep that in mind," Seraphina said.
She turned and walked away.
She didn't look back.
She walked fast. Very fast. Like she was escaping a fire.
Theo waved cheerfully.
"Good talk, Professor!" he shouted.
He turned back to the empty pavilion. He looked satisfied. He looked proud.
He pulled out his own sword and began practicing his forms, happily alone.
Marcus slumped against the tree trunk. He slid down until he was sitting in the dirt.
"He lectured her," Marcus whispered to a beetle crawling on his boot.
"He explained sword cleaning to a magic knight, a sword master."
"He bored her to death."
Operation: Forced Proximity was not just a failure. It was a catastrophe.
Marcus checked his diagram. He crumpled it into a ball.
He threw it into the bushes.
"Physics," he muttered bitterly. "Physics is a lie."