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The entire mess that soon comprised Katarina’s love life started off in the most disastrous way imaginable.

It had all started when she was eighteen years old and nursing a broken heart when the prince that she had spent a decade with ran off with some golden-haired harlot – after Katarina had already spent the better part of her youth and the majority of her dowry supporting him and his courtly ambitions in every way, shape, and deed.

In fact, so perfect had been Prince Jeord Stuart’s cunning scheme that Katarina had had no idea that he even had a mistress on the side – let alone that he was ready to leave her just a few days before she was due to stand up with him at a wedding altar so that she could become his wife.

Needless to say, Katarina’s would-be wedding day had come and gone without any actual marriage taking place as her husband-to-be had left nothing but a hastily scribbled note apologizing for following the desires of his heart over the necessities of politics, but anyway, Jeord had never loved her and he could not resist true love when it had presented itself in the form of an insipid blond who looked like his mother, so he now needed to spirit himself away, and maybe one day, when they were old and gray, they could have a nice long laugh about how he had strung Katarina along for years.

Naturally, Katarina was paraphrasing his flowery little attempt to explain why he was jilting her a day before their wedding was meant to take place. But then again, she no longer even had the note in question, as she had torn it to shreds before collapsing in a storm of tears.

And after her parents had taken on the hideous task of letting everyone in practically the entire bloody kingdom know that Katarina’s groom had decided to run off with some mealy-mouthed peasant than marry her, Katarina had found making a vow to herself once she finally forced herself to face the culmination of all of her fears.

“I am,” she cried passionately to herself as she raised her fist to the heavens, “not going to let myself be crushed by this horrid event! I may have adored that blond-haired twit of a prince since my childhood on… but from now on, I know that all blonds, from my father on down, they are scum who deserve only hatred! From now on, I will only delight in brunettes! And – and to find a new dark-haired groom who can take the place of that blond fool I nearly married –”

For Katarina had to admit… she truly did have a penchant for shiny yellow hair that she now realized came from the love she always sought from a father who had already betrayed her…

Lightning flashed. Katarina’s eyes narrowed. Somewhere in the distance, blonds everywhere raised their heads in despair.

“I will force the most attractive dark-haired man I know – Lord Nicol Ascart – to find me a better brunette groom that can properly appreciate me! After all, he probably helped Jeord run away from me in the first place! So he owes me a better dark-haired groom in compensation… and since he has the personality of wallpaper, whoever he finds for me may not be as good looking but will certainly have a more charming personality than him!”

Naturally, following that solemn promise, everything that could possibly go wrong did.

***

“It seems to me,” Katarina told Lord Nicol Ascart as soon as she stormed into his home to confront him, “that you owe me a groom on account of how you helped my last one flee!”

Whatever Lord Nicol expected to experience three days after his future liege had run away from his bride with some blond piece of fluff from the Academy, it had clearly not been angry never-to-be-princess confronting him. Certainly, his devastatingly handsome face reflected nothing but confusion and uncertainty as he stared down at the enraged lady nipping at his heels.

“P-pardon?” Lord Nicol said in low alto of his even as he stared at Katarina blankly.

“Yes!” Katarina cried in response! “That’s right! You do require a pardon – and from none other than myself! On account of how you probably urged my would-be husband to flee my company!”

Her words did not seem to enlighten Lord Nicol any further.

“I,” he managed to say, while looking at her bewildered. “I… do not believe I ever did such a thing. Indeed, Lady Katarina, I would never tell Prince Jeord to run away from any of his responsibilities.”

That honestly did not do much to assuage Katarina’s anger or heart-broken grief.

“So,” she practically spat out, “that was all I ever seemed to be to you and your liege, Prince Jeord? Just a responsibility that he was meant to bear, even as his heart strayed away from me?”

Lord Nicol’s beautiful dark eyes only widened, even as he looked abashed in a way that Katarina had never seen from him before.

“I,” he said, sounding more abashed than ever, “would not describe you as a… a mere responsibility, Lady Katarina.”

“Then what am I?” she shot back, her eyes blazing.

Lord Nicol smiled in a way that somehow managed to be both awkward and alluring – and that made Katarina suddenly realize that her plan to use him to learn to adore dark-haired men might proceed even more rapidly than she had ever dared to dream.

“Clearly,” Lord Nicol finally said, “you are a woman who knows her own mind – and also is aware of exactly what she wants and needs. So, Lady Katarina, perhaps you could enlighten me as to why you came to visit me in the first place? I certainly do not mind being a target of your rage should you need to vent it on someone, given all that you have just been through. But perhaps you have some other task in mind for me?”

Suddenly, Katarina had a very real understanding of why Prince Jeord had found Lord Nicol so indispensable as a retainer previously.

“So I do,” she said, thrusting her chin up in the air and ignoring the heat in her cheeks. “And so, since you allowed my groom to run away even though you seemed to know something of what he was planning…”

Now Lord Nicol had a slight blush to his own cheeks. Katarina ignored that even as her own blush increased.

“You are now responsible for finding me a new groom,” Katarina informed him grandly. “No blonds need apply – I seek dark-haired men like you exclusively! I know my value has lowered on the marriage market so I can hardly hope to snag another prince… unless you can find me one overseas. But I won’t settle for some pathetic countryside baron either. Find me a marquess and up, please! And then, I will consider your debt to me and House Claes alike settled indeed!”

Even though Katarina herself knew it was rather an outrageous claim to make – for truly, what debt did Lord Nicol, a man she barely even knew, have toward her? – Lord Nicol himself did not dismiss it entirely. For though he would been justified in treating Katarina as nothing more than a hysterical young bride, he ended up looking at her with such compassion in his dark eyes that Katarina had to fight back a wave of tears.

“All right,” Lord Nicol said at last, before he stood up and took Katarina’s hand in his own to kiss the back of it in formal obeisance. “Given my unfortunate role in aiding Prince Jeord in his… rather less than fully thought-out schemes over the years, that is the least I can do to help you during this time of… need. So will you not sit down with me, my lady, and help me fully understand what you need?”

And even as Katarina nodded yes and gracefully took a seat in Lord Nicol’s office to talk his ear off about what she wanted and needed from the next man lucky enough to have her and how Jeord had been a fool to pas her up and oh how she would suffer for making him leave her, suffer, she swore, how that blond fool would suffer…!

Katarina patted herself on the back for enacting a fool-proof scheme.

For even as she found herself a better brunette groom than that loathsome blond Jeord could ever be, she would make it so that Jeord’s closest friend and greatest retainer helped her carry out her revenge. What a cunning revenge indeed! How Jeord would gnash his teeth when he went off to be some idiot prince of some backwards country hovel and she married a far superior and darker haired man with the help of her friend! And how she would gloat as she rose far higher in the social firmament than the twit that he adored could ever reach!

“Lord Nicol,” Katarina finally said when their first planning (well, ranting) session finally drew to a close. “You are indeed quite the cleverest man I know. I feel ever so much better knowing my future is in your hands. I hope you will not disappoint me in the groom that you eventually find for me.”

Lord Nicol gave Katarina a faint, hapless smile that made her stomach flip for a moment before she mastered herself.

“My dear lady,” Lord Nicol murmured as his dark eyes captured her one last time for the night. “When it comes to rectifying my wrongs, I live to serve.”

“And serve you shall!” Katarina declared, even as she bestowed a smile upon her new retainer. Up to the point where I am standing at the wedding altar at long last with a groom that will not run from me!”

Lord Nicol nodded gravely and Katarina congratulated herself once more on finding a solution to all of her problems.

***

Later, Katarina would remember this first conversation between them and laugh hysterically.

***

The very next day, Katarina marched over to the Ascart Manor and to a simultaneously bemused and confused Lord Nicol’s study once more, full of verve and energy.

“My dear new retainer!” she declared. “I realize that while I have been upfront with you about the goals I seek to achieve within our relationship, I have been remiss about finding out what it is that you would like and need from me.”

Lord Nicol blinked those outrageously long, sooty eyelashes of his, looking rather like the world’s most ridiculously handsome puppy.

“Er,” he said, most eloquently. “Pardon me?”

“You are pardoned,” Katarina kindly informed him, since he seemed to need the reminder. Then she added: “In any case, I want to reiterate that our relationship, such as it is, shall not be a one-way play. Naturally, to pay off your debt to me, you will need to find me a husband – dark-haired, of course – who is worthy of me. But that does not mean I cannot grant you a great favor once I find that husband.”

“Ah,” Lord Nicol replied, his brows nearly meeting his hairline. “Lady Katarina, that is… magnanimous indeed.”

“I know,” Katarina replied cheerfully. “Likely far more so than you ever expected of me.”

Lord Nicol winced at that, though he slowly nodded.

“To be honest,” he admitted, “I would have never expected you to be willing to repay me in any way. Not after I…”

He trailed off and Katarina held back a sigh. As though she did not already know, or at least suspect, precisely why Lord Nicol was indulging her in the first place, though he had no formal reason to play along with her goals.

“Consider me most magnanimous to those who are in my employ, as you are temporarily,” Katarina dryly explained. “And when I finally meet my husband, do let me know what you would like from me. Unlike your former master, Prince Jeord, I pay my debts – and I know how to reward those who do their best by me.”

A small, almost furtive smile crossed Lord Nicol’s lovely face.

“I will try as much,” Lord Nicol responded gently. “Though your happiness will be the best reward possible, my lady.”

“Men always say as much,” Katarina sighed, waving her hand at him. “We shall see if you feel the same after enough time in my company.”

Her new retainer gave a rather incredulous little laugh at that and Katarina went on briskly.

“In any case, I realize I spent far too much of our last meeting venting my feelings about Prince Jeord. And by doing so, I neglected to tell you exactly what I would like to see in any future marriage candidate that you bring before me.”

“Well,” Lord Nicol murmured, “venting about your feelings seems like a healthy reaction to the pain that you went through. Thus, I do not fault you for doing as much during our first meeting.”

Curious, Katarina asked: “Did you think the same thing about my maniacal cackling?”

“Er,” Lord Nicol said, sounding discomforted even as another smile tugged at his lips. “I suppose there is nothing wrong with it so long as it makes you happy?”

Katarina tried out another bout of maniacal cackling while Lord Nicol looked on, pressing his lips down hard against another smile. Once she was done, she beamed at her newest retainer and said: “Ah, yes. It turns out maniacal cackling does indeed soothe my soul. If you do not mind, I believe I will try it ever more frequently even in your company!”

“Well,” Lord Nicol said, looking once again both amused and astounded. “As your current retainer, I am happy to aid you in whatever manner I can. My lady, feel free to cackle as much as you like with me.”

“I will do so then,” Katarina cheerfully responded. “And may I commend you on your exceptional empathy where it concerns my cackling needs? Truly, the man I marry must be just as handsome and as open to cackling as you, Lord Nicol. You must find me quite the paragon indeed!”

“That is,” Lord Nicol said, after a very long pause, “…good to know. Do you have any other requirements of the man you would like me to find for you?”

Katarina smiled widely. And without further delay, Katarina unfurled her eighteen-point list of requirements and began expounding on them happily.

After an hour had gone by and she had finished going through her requirements, a rather shell-shocked Lord Nicol finally responded.

“My lady,” he said, eyes as wide as dinner plates, “that is a very… thorough list of what qualities your future husband needs.”

“Thank you!” Katarina merrily replied. “I pride myself on making my expectations of others very clear. Indeed, if my errant would-be-groom had been as good at communication as I am, we would not have had so many outrageous difficulties!”

“Indeed,” Lord Nicol murmured, “Prince Jeord was nowhere near as… clear a communicator as you. Very few people, I think, could possibly be. But… er… do you not find your list a tad… redundant?”

Baffled, Katarina asked: “Whatever do you mean?”

“Well, my lady,” Lord Nicol replied, “I understand wanting to put down requirements such as: ‘Must not be blond like Jeord,’ ‘Must not be a talented liar like Jeord,’ and ‘Must not be adulterous like Jeord.’ But I am not sure you needed to put ‘Must not be evil like Jeord,’ ‘Must not be wicked like Jeord,’ and ‘Must not be a traitorous scum upon the earth like Jeord’ as well. Those last few seem to, er. Overlap. Rather unduly.”

“Oh,” Katarina said, waving Lord Nicol’s words off. “Those were just to vent my rage a bit. I do that when I get worked up.”

“I had not noticed,” Lord Nicol said most chivalrously.

“Whoever I marry,” Katarina generously responded, “must be just as tactful as you as well. Add that to my list, please.”

With a slight blush and another furtive smile on his face, Lord Nicol did so. And then, deciding the hour was getting late, Katarina made her exit for the day.

“Do let me know when you pull together a list of candidates who can meet these qualities,” she told him, even as she rose to leave. “I shall come visit you again and cackle at you as needed. I will even practice beforehand to make sure it is cathartic for the both of us. After all, though you do not seem the sort to allow yourself to ever have a hair out of place in company, you seem to also have a lot of rage that needs venting.”

Lord Nicol look startled at that before he murmured: “Lady Katarina, I do not know what you mean.”

“Oh, trust me,” Katarina murmured. “I know long-suppressed anger against blonds when I see it. You may be very good at hiding most of your feelings, Lord Nicol, but you cannot hide that much from me.”

Then Katarina said one last thing before she left.

“Please do contact me when you are ready with a list of suitors for me to review,” she languidly said. “And remember – tow-headed folk are the devil’s own get. Avoid them entirely!”

She gave Lord Nicol one last secret wink in solidarity at his simmering rage against the tow-headed and then left while practicing her cackling.

***

The next week, Lord Nicol sent Katarina an invitation to come join himself and his sister for tea in order to look over the list of marriage candidates that he had found for her already.

Katarina arrived in her usual grand style, took one look at the wan, white-haired and red-eyed wraith sitting next to Lord Nicol, and brightly said: “You must be Lady Sophia Ascart, yes?”

Looking as though she were frightened at being directly addressed, the woman in question managed to squeak out: “Y-yes?”

“I would hope so,” Katarina replied. “Because if you are not, that means we have two white-haired and red-eyed demons on the loose… and that would severely deplete your value.”

Lady Sophia only stared haplessly in answer while Lord Nicol turned white and said: “P-pardon?”

“You are pardoned,” Katarina kindly informed him, since he seemed to need the reminder. Then she turned to the beautiful little demoness sitting beside him and said: “You know, people say you are the devil’s child. But since you are not tow-headed, you cannot be so terrible. In fact, the more I think about it, the more I realize I would absolutely love to have your skill-set. If nothing else, I know one particular golden-haired ponce who thoroughly needs the kinds of curses that you must easily cast.”

Lord Nicol’s face just turned whiter, even as Lady Sophia continued to stare.

“Oh, don’t get me wrong,” Katarina added hastily, in case she had offended. “I have nothing but the greatest respect in the world for demons and the curses that they can cast. I am nothing but an ordinary human being, alas, and my magic is not particularly useful either. Honestly, Lady Sophia, I have always quite admired you. What forbearance you have always shown to those who have gossiped about you, even when you could easily have destroyed them beneath your little cloven feet.”

As one, they all turned to stare at Sophia’s bottom half.

“Oh look,” Katarina said in admiration. “You can even cast a glamor to hide your hoofs! Meanwhile, I get one stray freckle and I have to powder my face for fifteen minutes to hide it. My goodness, you are so accomplished compared to me! Won’t you please teach me some of your tricks eventually?”

“Um,” Lady Sophia stammered, clearly using a veil of innocence to hide her brilliance. “I… I really don’t know any kind of… of illusionary tricks. I am a decent enough wind mage but I do not have the ability to cast curses on other people. And… and I do not have cloven feet or hooves either.”

“Ah,” Katarina said, after Lady Sophia’s clever sophistry was unveiled at last. “So you are beautiful, talented, and an excellent dissembler of obvious truths. I can only hope you use your obvious brilliance in the devilish arts to curse only those who deserve it. What price would I have to pay to get you to hex all of the hair off of Jeord’s head or all of the teeth out of his mouth?”

Lady Sophia made a little noise that suggested she was sliding into shock. Katarina nodded in approval at the covert message.

“I see,” Katarina said, even as she nodded knowingly. “I suppose I should not barter my soul itself in search of merely petty revenge. I shall content myself with looking over the dark-haired swains that your brother has amassed for me. Would you like to take a look with us, my dear demonic lady? If there are any that you do not approve of, I am fine with you having them hexed.”

“Ah,” Lady Sophia said again, before she stammered about a few more times before giving her assent.

So it was that Katarina’s first pleasant day with the Ascart siblings passed, the three of them forming a cozy little man-hunting trio as Lord Nicol spread out his surprisingly extensive dossiers on the eligible and station-appropriate dark-haired men in the kingdom that might make an excellent groom for Katarina in the end. For in addition to being a talented demoness in disguise, Lady Sophia – who insisted on being called just Sophia to just Katarina by the end of their first evening – was a first-rate romantic.

“Do you know so much about romance because of your demonic training?” Katarina wondered even as Sophia showed off a great deal of sophisticated understanding of men just by their appearance, claiming their hair-cut alone could reveal whether they were well suited for Katarina. “Or are beautiful demonesses like you just naturally attuned to the hearts of men because they fall in love with you constantly?”

Sophia just turned brick-red and said: “It’s – it’s nothing so unusual! Really, I just read a lot of romance novels!”

“Is that code for the grimoires that demonesses study from?” Katarina wondered aloud, before looking at Sophia’s still flushed face and said: “Ah, I remember – secret demoness business you cannot reveal to a mere paltry human like me. Well then, my new friend – keep your secrets. I shall simply delight in whatever arcane knowledge you reveal to me.”

“Erm,” Sophia said, even as Lord Nicol sighed for the umpteenth time for no reason Katarina could understand in the background of their lively conversation about the merits and flaws of the men unveiled before them. “I… I will reveal whatever I can to you in hopes it can help you find a man worthy of you. Even if perhaps… perhaps I know of one already?”

“Oh, do tell!” Katarina cried happily. “Whatever advice you could give me, oh my dear demoness, would be adored indeed!”

But for some reason, Sophia’s beautiful ruby-red eyes darted over to her brother as she blushed all the harder and said nothing further. So Katarina could only shrug and carry on in hopes of finding a man worthy of marrying at last.

***

So it was that over the next few weeks and months, edging toward a year, Katarina grew ever closer to the beautiful and brilliant Ascart siblings. And while it was not always easy to find a way to go to their estate given the demands of her schedule – and her mother’s escalating attempts to matchmake her with whatever enobled twit Miridiana Claes could dig up from God only knows where, which Katarina would be appalled by even if she trusted her mother’s standards – Katarina always found it a relief to spend time in their company.

Dear Sophia – once Katarina got over her minor fear of being hexed by the lovely young demoness’ devil magic should she put one toe out of line – was exquisitely charming indeed. Once Sophia go over her own fear that Katarina would – oh, who knows what powerful demonesses were afraid of? – try to burn the poor girl at the stake, she truly blossomed when Katarina was near. Katarina ended up spending many happy hours in Sophia’s company as the young demoness happily detailed her magnificent adventures, although Sophia always carefully coached said adventures as though she were simply recounting stories from her “novels.”

(Katarina knew a real life story from the demon plane when she heard one… but since Sophia wanted to pretend she was a “regular young lady” recounting “adventure novels”… well, who was Katarina to say differently? In any case, if Katarina continued to insist on the truth, it might lead to a hexing!)

Naturally though, Katarina spent the majority of her time in the company of Lord Nicol – though he eventually insisted on being called Nicol only, even as he continued to chivalrously call her Lady Katarina. And even as the weeks she spent with him turned into months, she grew to appreciate her new retainer all the more. Certainly, she could not find any fault whatsoever in his work ethic, as he strove tirelessly to find her new beaus from all parts of Sorcier, pulling together dossiers that held an extraordinary amount of knowledge on each and every man that Katarina might possibly be matched with.

It was, Katarina decided, not his fault that none of the men that he could find could quite meet her standards. Then again, her own standards may have been raised sky-high not only because she wanted to avoid another Jeord-like debacle but because Nicol was himself so much a paragon, any man would be outshone next to his example.

“Truly,” Katarina said, sighing as she frowned at the latest dossier that she handled. “There is nothing particularly wrong with Lord Nine and it is lovely to know that he will be a future Marquess, as becoming a Marchioness is certainly not that far below me. Yet he lacks a certain… something, doesn’t he? He just doesn’t seem quite as charming or capable or, well, anything as you happen to be.”

Nicol’s high cheekbones became dusted with a rosy flush once more – a look that never ceased to fascinate Katarina.

“That is,” he murmured, taking refuge behind a stack of papers, “quite a kind compliment to pay me, Lady Katarina – though I am not sure I deserve it in the least.”

“Possibly not,” Katarina graciously conceded. “And yet, this is how I currently feel. You truly are the best possible man I could have met. Quite a pity that men as high quality as you do not exist in as many quantities as the women of Sorcier need.”

Nicol said nothing, Katarina sighed as she confirmed her peerless understanding of the world once more, and then carried on as she always done despite the disappointments she faced constantly.

In any case, even as Katarina despaired of ever finding a man that could live up to her standards – which were increasingly being set by her interactions with Nicol – she still did her best to keep on searching for the man she sought so ardently. And in the meantime, she still made time to help Nicol with his work as well, as the dear man – though brilliant – sometimes was cut off from precisely the social networks that he needed to conduct his work thoroughly.

“Did you know,” Katarina had once had to tell him after she had seen a dossier on Lord Ruvellis Castina sitting on his desk, “that I know that that man abuses drugs to the point where he is on the verge of a nasty public divorce to his wife, the long-suffering Lady Aristia? I hope you are not considering him as a potential source of support or even a potential candidate for any sort of role in the future. He may put up a good front in public but I for one know that his whole life is teetering on the verge of a breakdown.”

Nicol had looked downright startled as he absorbed the news. Finally, he had asked: “And how do you know that, Lady Katarina? Though I do not doubt you in the least, are the sources that you consult in knowing that news trust-worthy?”

“Indeed they are,” Katarina stoutly maintained. “And though I ask you to keep this in confidence, my source is the poor Lady Aristia herself. She was my close friend at the Academy and I trust you will keep this news discrete – even as I advise you to cut that loathsome Lord Ruvellis out of any plans that you may be making. Even if you care not at all for his marital woes, his behavior has been most erratic as of late – and he cannot be trusted with anything.”

“I promise,” Nicol had faithfully said, “to make sure not to disclose any of Lady Aristia’s troubles in public or even private. And I thank you for your trust in me, for this piece of information is vital indeed. I had in fact thought to seek Lord Ruvellis out for his help in a critical infrastructure project that I am a part of – but knowing of his troubles, I will avoid doing this. Thank you, Lady Katarina – you have saved me much time and trouble in the future.”

“You are most welcome,” Katarina graciously replied. “And I do have quite an extensive network of gossip among the young nobles of Sorcier that I am happy to use to help you in your work, given how much you are aiding me. I likely have information that your mother does not have as we move in different circles – and Sophia, of course, is too busy going about on her exciting demoness business to pay attention to mere society gossip. So feel free to ask me about anyone you may have concerns or questions about. I am always willing to help you.”

Nicol’s smile was small but so dazzling, Katarina almost felt as though she had to blink stars out of her eyes.

“Thank you very much,” he murmured, looking at her under those long, sooty eyelashes that Katarina quite despaired of finding in a man who might actually marry her. “Your kindness, Lady Katarina, never ceases to astound me – even when it shows up in a most unorthodox manner.”

“Well, you ought to know by now,” Katarina responded cheerily even as she fought down a flush, “that I do not do anything in the expected fashion. Is that not my hallmark by now?”

“No doubt it is,” Nicol gently said. “And life is all the better for it, I expect.”

Katarina lost her battle with the crimson in her cheeks at that moment and so, had to divert them both by diving into a deep well of society gossip that might be of concern to Nicol in turn. And so it was that from that moment on, Katarina somehow found herself constantly relaying the comings and goings of high society to a deeply interested Nicol who used that information to change his own attempts to reestablish himself as something other than Jeord’s future Prime Minister. 

Still, though Katarina knew she was helping Nicol greatly by forwarding so much useful information to him from her own information networks, she struggled with the sense that he was doing so much more for her than vice versa – which was not a sense that Katarina liked to have with any of those she spent time with. (She had always been more of a giver than a receiver). Thankfully, she was able to make up for that sense of unbalance by finding the perfect gift to give to Nicol – which she realized, after spending quite a bit of time marveling at how his beauty could not be diminished even by the circles beneath his eyes.

And that gift, naturally, was the gift of sleep.

Even if she had to enforce it by some… extreme means.

Or at least, that had been Nicol’s opinion when she had greeted him one evening by marching in with a series of well-trained servants who – even as he stared in blank shock – set up the perfect gift within his study. And even as Nicol tried to ask what was going on, Katarina simply waved him off with the cheery note that “It’s a surprise, my dear, so please close your eyes and keep waiting,” even as she directed the servants in their work.

So it was that just a half-hour later, she unveiled the fruits of her labor – the perfect napping nook for them both, complete with a matched set of fainting couches that they could relax into after they had spent their time plotting and exhaustion took hold.

“Is it not perfect?” Katarina asked, even as she cheerfully strode to one couch, drank the glass of warm milk from the cozy little table that had been set next to it, and then eased her satin sleep mask onto her head before drifting off to relax in her newfound couch-bed. “As alluring as the dark circles under your eyes are, they appear far too much the mark of exhaustion for my tastes – and since I too need to take in more beauty sleep before a good husband eludes me, I thought I should arrange for us to nap together every evening when I am here. I know this is not as good as the gift that I will grant you once you do find a husband for me – but think of this as sort of down payment.”

For a very long moment, all Nicol could do was stare at Katarina so long, she worried about whether he would ever take a much-needed rest. Was he, perhaps, worried that further sleep would only make him all the more alluring and keep her from ever being content with another man?

Thankfully though, after a few moments of staring wide-eyed at her, Nicol ended up bowing gallantly – before gently easing off his own coat, drinking his own glass of warmed milk, and then putting his own sleep mask upon his head. And then, even as he eased himself onto his own sleeping couch, Nicol looked at her with a smile that was somehow even more radiant than any he had given her before.

“My lady,” Nicol said, even as he began gently drifting off to sleep near her, his mask already over his eyes though Katarina responsibly kept hers off just to make sure he was sleeping properly. “I must thank you from the bottom of my hear for taking such good care of me. Indeed, I cannot remember anyone else from outside of my family doing so much so as to make me happy.”

Surprised, Katarina could say: “Did Jeord not make similar gestures to show how much he appreciated you? After all, I cannot imagine that you did not serve him just as diligently as you serve me!”

Beneath his mask, Nicol gave a pained smile.

“Even when I do not agree with his actions,” Nicol slowly said, “I love Jeord just as much as I would love a brother of my own flesh. But Jeord was not, as you likely know, someone who went out of his way to assure another person’s happiness. I suppose he expected me to do whatever I needed to do to support him out of the strength of our friendship.”

Katarina snorted, however unladylike such a move might be. “Hmph. As a matter of fact, I do know something about how little Jeord will do in order to make another person happy. I can only wish the best of luck to his latest plaything, as I doubt she will find life very pleasing once he stops finding her novel. And if Jeord did not shower you with praise and presents at every opportunity for the tireless support you gave him… why, it looks as though I have yet more evidence that Jeord’s so-called “genius” is vastly overrated indeed!”

Nicol’s smile and voice alike were warm but wry.

“I do believe you are right, my lady. I too garner more evidence of that all the time.”

Katarina smiled brilliantly though she knew he could not see.

“It is good,” she explained, “to know that you are coming to hate tow-headed folk just as much as I do!”

Nicol’s only answer was a warm laugh before he slowly drifted to sleep, Katarina watching him the whole time with more affection than she would dare disclose when he was not dreaming.

***

The next few months that Katarina spent by Nicol’s side unfurled beautifully – far more so than Katarina had ever thought possible with a man after the horror show that had been Jeord. But though Katarina had once feared that she could never trust a man again, Nicol had been an exemplary partner to her – patient, kind, supportive, and always willing to listen to her cackle or rant about whatever might be on her mind.

It was enough to make her almost wish that he was interested in submitting himself as a candidate for her hand in marriage…

But after enough polite silences from him whenever she tried to bring up the topic in as subtle a manner as she could, Katarina knew when she was being politely brushed off. 

In which case – well, Katarina could understand why Nicol was not interested in her. For though Katarina did her best to maintain an optimistic view of herself – after all, she was a reasonably attractive and decently charismatic woman from a very wealthy and powerful family and thus, quite a catch in the marital market of Sorcerian society – she could understand why Nicol held himself aloof from anything more than simple friendship. He was, after all, a paragon even among dark-haired men, what with his being peerlessly handsome, extraordinarily intelligent, extremely kind, smolderingly charismatic, and assured of a brilliant future even with his once-liege Jeord out of the political picture.

Nicol could have practically any woman he pleased should he so much as smile at her. So why would he settle for Katarina, of all possible contenders?

And if the realization that he was not in the least interested in romancing her sometimes hurt –

Well.

It did not matter. Katarina had already survived being jilted at the altar by a tow-headed demon. She could damn well survive a polite brush-off by a kind young man who was truly dedicated to helping her.

So time went on and as it did, Katarina resigned herself to marrying someone other than the man she had fallen for. And as she did, she adjusted her standards from “someone basically just like Nicol” to “someone who may not be as good as Nicol but might actually marry her.”

Yet though Nicol clearly did his best to present suitor after suitor to Katarina, none of them seemed to satisfy her. None of them lived up at the least to Nicol’s sterling example handsomeness, empathy, and brilliance alike, which made it hard to feel satisfied by settling for any of them all.

But Katarina knew that trying to find another Nicol was an exercise in futility and so, tried to work herself up to some form of enthusiasm for them. And so it was that almost a year into her search for a new husband, Katarina came across the first non-Nicol in quite some time who managed to excite her interest.

It had happened when Nicol had been showing her sketches of foreign noblemen who would come to Sorcier for this year’s International Assembly – a grand gala in which Sorcier would host nobles from the entire continent and show off their might as a kingdom. The International Assembly was held  once every two years in one of the continent’s capital cities and all of Sorcierian high society was thrown into a frenzy of preparation already. Certainly, the single noblewomen and men were all interested in finding a potential partner among the foreign nobles and even royals who would be flocking to them.

Katarina herself was highly interested in finding a match abroad. After all, having been only disappointed in one way or another in Sorcerian men, why should she not look overseas to find a man who might suit her well and take her away to a land where no one would know of her past disgrace? She did not doubt that she would dearly miss her family and friends – but moving abroad would give her the opportunity to start over in another land free of all her past mistakes.

Mistakes that included falling in love, time and again, with men who did not want her in the least.

So when Nicol gave her one more sheath of sketches of dark-haired men to pursue, casually telling her that these men were all notable nobles or royals from abroad who would come to visit Sorcier for the International Gala, Katarina went over these latest prospects with a care she had not previously had. Instead of dismissing them outright as holding no candle to Nicol, she took her time to look them over and read a few cursory notes, imagining what it might be like to meet them in person.

And the true irony was that when she finally found a prospect that she could be excited about, he was so handsome that he could give even Nicol a run for his money.

“Who is this man?” Katarina asked, even as her eyes stopped on him and his face skipped a beat. “I must say, if he is even half as handsome in real life as his sketch makes him seem, he must have an entourage of smitten women following him about every eve!”

Indeed, the mystery man she had stopped upon was rather devastating attractive – and in a smoldering, masculine way that was quite the contrast to the more delicate, supple beauty more often seen with the men of Sorcier. This man had dusky skin, dark hair and eyes, a slender face and a devastating smile – all qualities Katarina had to admit that she was quite charmed by already.

Of course, for all Katarina knew, he might be some low-level noble that her parents would never agree to marry her to. Or he might be a lout or a womanizer or a spend-thrift or a gambler or who knows what other personal vices such a handsome man might have.

And Nicol looked oddly frozen at her words, as though he had not expected the level of interest she clearly had.

Then again, Katarina reflected, she had not shown anything but dismay and disdain toward other men in her presence. No doubt it was a surprise to him – and hopefully a pleasant one! – that all of his work in finding her a good suitor may be paying off at long last.

Still, his voice was oddly distant when he answered her – as though his mind were occupied by more important matters still.

“His name,” Nicol said slowly, “is Cezar Dahl, Prince of Ethenell. And he has already requested a meeting between the two of you as soon as the International Assembly begins.”

Chapter Text

Nicol stared blindly at the paper in front of him that was either a requisition request from Ian Stuart's guard captain for new boots for the soldiers or a recipe for a new type of cabbage soup.

It was, Nicol decided, time for him to stop pretending to work.

He leaned back in his chair, secure enough in his closed door to throw his arm over his forehead and groan.

After all, he had had a plan for wooing and winning over Lady Katarina Claes.

It hadn't been a good plan, but it had been a plan.

Even now, Nicol cursed himself for being so timid about wooing a woman that he finally realized that he loved with all his heart – but had already lost to another.

Of course, much of his loss was his own fault – a truth that Nicol knew all too well. Though he had spent a great deal of time with Katarina over the last few months, his initial aim had only been to help her obtain a husband that cherished her more than the last would-be one did. Even after he realized that he adored her in all of her mad glory – even when she accused his sister of having hooves and asked for tips on how to bespell men to lose their eye-teeth – he had been far too hesitant about wooing her directly.

Indeed, Nicol could now see that his own timidity and reliance on his family’s advice had only assured his loss in the end. For when Nicol had hesitantly gone to Earl Ascart for advice, his father had terrified and confused him with his explanation of how an illegitimate son of a minor baron had earned the title of an earl in order to wed a Duke's daughter and ended up creating Nicol and Sophia from their volcanic passion.

Sometimes Nicol feared he would never be able to rid his brain of the images that had come to mind from his father’s all too detailed explanation.

What was worse was that that explanation had been slightly more helpful than the book his father had handed him with a leer and that had left Nicol in a wretched state of confusion, misery, and hiding behind shrubbery when Katarina started gesturing too wildly for the contents of her corset.

But Nicol was, for once, determined not to be the man who stood to the side and watched life pass by as he served as an emotionless automaton to protect his family. So if his father could earn the favor of a Duke's daughter by becoming the future king's advisor, Nicol could grimly beg before Prince Ian Stuart to allow Nicol the chance to prove his usefulness.

Prince Ian had been more receptive than Nicol had expected and Nicol had felt his first rush of hope that he could prove to be a worthy suitor to Katarina after all. So he had worked fastidiously to amass the power and status that he would need to win Katarina (and her family) over – even as he remained determined not to pressure the dazzling woman who had overturned his life until he was worthy of her.

Sophia, of course, had given him the opposite advice to his father, though she and their father both seemed destined to traumatize Nicol. For as disturbing as his father’s stories about his mother were, Sophia’s stick-figure diagrams of how Nicol could woo Katarina by bending her over and consuming her with his passion haunted his dreams still.

Nonetheless, Nicol had though that he had come up with a winning plan to be happily wed to Katarina in the end. For even as she seemed curiously uninterested in all of the potential dark-haired husbands that he introduced to her, he worked hard in the background to become the kind of prestigious and powerful man he hoped would be worthy of her hand. Nicol had even begun practicing his speech about how maybe, just maybe, he might have some of the qualities that Katarina required in her future husband.

After all, though Nicol remained embarrassed over how he had failed to get Jeord to take his marriage promises to Katarina seriously… Nicol hoped to make up for them by being the husband that Katarina deserved. In that station, he hoped to prove to be kind, generous, supportive, a good provider… and dark of hair as well.

Then Prince Cezar Dahl of the Kingdom of Ethenell had appeared.

Prince Cezar had the dark hair that Katarina had required of her swains.

He also fulfilled every other requirement that Katarina had ever asked for.

Though Nicol knew he was decently talented – what with his having a face that people sometimes inexplicably raved about and a decent-enough mind – he knew that he also suffered from a crippling inability to express himself emotionally. He had hoped that it would not prove to be too much of a barrier to a life with Katarina, as she did not seem to care that he said two words to her sixty.

But from what Nicol knew of Prince Cezar, the dashing royal from overseas did not have that problem at all.

Indeed, if Prince Cezar had any flaws, he hid them mostly carefully. The prince was eloquent, handsome, charming, talented, and known to be a gifted fighter from his mercenary years. All of this was accompanied by the prince’s genuine love for his family and his people. Nicol’s agents had already shared many stories of how the prince had supported both his beloved kingly brother and his kingdom by putting his life at risk in daring undercover missions.

Indeed, even Nicol might have been dazzled by the prince’s combination of allure and altruism if Nicol wasn't already utterly and completely in love with Katarina.

And when Nicol realized that Prince Cezar could love Katarina in return – and make her a beloved princess as well – the older version of Nicol would have stepped back, smiled, and wished them happiness.

But the newer version of Nicol could not give up on being with Katarina – however hopeless such as a wish might be.

The newer version of Nicol found himself frantically volunteering for every political stature raising job he could find, sending Katarina every single object he found that even remotely reminded him of her, and to his utmost shame and horror, attempting to write poetry.

He had gotten as far as "Your hair is not golden and your feet are not cloven" before he had disgusted himself enough to flee the Ascart estate.

At present, Nicol was locked in the office he had earned from Prince Ian and unable to tell if he was making soup or buying boots because the words in front of him made no sense when all he wanted to do was howl at the moon and beg Katarina to let him whisk her away.

Finally, giving up on his work in disgust Nicol laughed miserably and hoped to the gods that Katarina was having a better time than he currently was.

And when the marvelous lady herself burst into the room with a cheery cackle that announced her presence, Nicol took one look at her and realized that that was indeed the case.

It did not make him feel much better... even as Nicol tried his damndest to be grateful for the happiness that was radiating in waves from her. For even as Lady Katarina looked at him with those gorgeous slanted eyes and smiled at him, Nicol's heart wavered between wanting to immediate declare his feelings for her... and trying very hard to remember that she had already found another.

When Katarina smiled warmly at him and said, "My dear Lord Nicol! I would ask how you are doing but you look as miserably bound by reams of paper as ever!" –

It was all Nicol could do not to toss himself out of his window in an effort to forget just how damned charming he found her.

"I am," said Nicol, hastily rising to his feet as a cloud of papers flew upwards with his movement, "entirely at your service, my lady."

He paused for a second trying to find something to say that wasn't, I read the most fascinating book about how we could use the top of this desk.

Finally, he managed to sputter, "You look... happy. I hope that you are doing well?"

"Oh," Lady Katarina said, with a light cackle. "Quite reasonably."

She took her usual seat next to his desk with a sigh, her long lashes fluttering down to her cheeks as she did so, even as Nicol tried to pretend that he wasn't staring at her like a starving man might look upon a succulent pastry.

(Honestly, Nicol blamed that damned book his father had given him. That must be the culprit behind his current levels of... hunger!)

"Then again," she added, as her eyes opened and Nicol hastily averted his. "Life has been such a whirlwind as of late. Prince Cezar may be the most energetic man I have ever met and keeping up with him taxes even me."

Oh, thought Nicol, as his mind crumbled into a disturbing low buzzing. Apparently Prince Cezar had made better use of his book than Nicol had.

"Energetic?" said Nicol, hoping his voice remained somewhat even as he sank back into his chair, unsure if he could remain standing. "I find it hard to believe that anyone could match your enthusiasm."

I could, shrieked the voice in the back of Nicol's mind that he had been fervently ignoring for months. All this energy being spent on paperwork could be spent on Katarina if you gave me the chance! Let me woo her already!

Nicol squashed that voice hastily, lest he need find yet more shrubbery to lurk behind.

Nicol had, after all, so little time in Katarina's presence... and likely would have nothing at all once she went overseas to marry the handsome, charming, and daring Prince Cezar. So Nicol needed to drink in her presence while he could... even if it the thought of it going away made him want to drink something even more potent.

"Oh, believe me," Katarina returned dryly even as Nicol fought his own inner narration, "Prince Cezar is enthusiastic enough for a dozen nobles in our kingdom. Did you know that he used to be a mercenary known as the Golden-Eyed Wolf? And that he still regularly gets up at the crack of dawn to run five miles a day to keep in shape? I am afraid that he is in such excellent shape, he overtakes even me!"

"My lady," said Nicol, irrationally upset on her behalf, "I think it would be impossible to be in better shape than you are."

Nicol had seen Prince Cezar. Even with all of his mercenary training, Prince Cezar could only dream of doing the things to a corset that Katarina was currently doing.

Especially given the wonders that occurred when Katarina emitted her charming cackle-laugh.

Blinking for a second, Nicol hastily added, "I am glad that Prince Cezar is spending so much energy in his time with you. I hope that-"

-Nicol tried to remember what random object he had last sent her, even as he pushed down on his breaking heart-

"-the miniature finger warmer I sent you was useful in your time with him."

Nicol had long since realized that he would fight for the amazing, vibrant woman in front of him until all hope was gone. But he also knew that once she finally told him she loved elsewhere, he would cede the field.

For though Nicol wasn't sure what kind of man he would ultimately be, he knew he would make a way for himself to be happy for her and her presumably non-cloven future husband.

(Even if a very small and incredibly petty part of Nicol hoped that she would mourn the cloven-hooved children that he could have given her (at least within her mind) continually).

"That miniature finger warmer was darling!" Katarina cried, a strange blush coming to her cheeks. However, before Nicol could spend too much time admiring it and then looking for shrubbery, she carried on, though her cheeks continued to glow.

"Yet you mustn’t under-rate Prince Cezar," she went on to say, as though Nicol wasn't comparing himself unfavorably to said prince at all hours of the night and day. "No matter how many doves I throw at him to show my affection, he manages to handle them. Did you know, one time when my dear doves got too rowdy, Prince Cezar even threw himself at me to keep my gown from being soiled?"

Katarina ran her hands up and down said gown in a way that made Nicol wish urgently for a hedge to hide beneath, although he had to make do with his desk.

"He's very chivalrous," she said, her eyes gazing at Nicol as though trying desperately to make him believe it. "Almost as much as you, actually."

"Pardon?" said Nicol, blinking, unsure if he had really heard her correctly as a man who had never thought of himself as particularly chivalrous.

"You are pardoned," Katarina gently said, the words so nostalgic even as they tripped from her lovely lips. "And I shall pardon you as often as you need, my dear."

Even as Nicol's face colored from her last words, Katarina carried on as though she had not said something that stirred him deep within his innermost soul – though her cheeks too now looked rosy.

"Truly," Katarina murmured. "Prince Cezar Dahl is a man among men -- including even dark-haired men. He is handsome, kind, chivalrous, brave, dashing, and as firm a gentleman as one might meet. All of his years of being a mercenary have not decreased the respect he accords to women. Indeed, though my last fiancée was more "gently bred," Prince Cezar outdoes him in chivalry. And Prince Cezar certainly has been kind in squiring me about. My past month has been taken up with our activities. I had little time even to see you... and I must admit, I missed you."

"I..." said Nicol, trying to find words even as he was half-wondering if he was trapped in a nightmare from falling asleep over a boot-soup recipe, "I have-"

Longed for your company?

Dreamed of you sleeping and waking?

Wondered how my life suddenly developed color when you entered it?

"-been reading a lot of soup recipes that I wished I could share with you," said Nicol.

He shrugged, trying not to let the bitterness seep into his voice as he stated plainly, "I am unsure, my lady, how you could have had time to miss me, not that I doubt your truthfulness. Prince Cezar sounds a far more entertaining companion than..."

...Than some failed fool who talked about soup recipes.

Somehow, Nicol couldn't bring himself to finish the sentence, as he forced himself to start shuffling the wildly spread papers on his desk.

He still couldn't tell if the letter was about soup or boots.

Not that it mattered compared to Katarina's dainty boot stomping repeatedly on his heart as she spoke. Even worse was that she seemed determined to keep stomping – as was seen in her next words.

"Truly?" she cried, her eyes as wide as saucers while she stared at him with an emotion that Nicol knew he must not read too much into. "I – I adore soup! And I could speak of recipes with you all day long! Minestrone is a passion of mine, in all truth!"

Even as Nicol digested those words – and reflected on how kind Katarina was to not make him seem like a fool – she rushed on

"In fact, that's... that's obviously one of the topics of conversation that Prince Cezar and I go on about. Mad for soup, that man is. He is forever going on about soups and stews and all sorts of configurations. Though I imagine your recipes might be even better than his."

Since Nicol's recipes consisted of a letter that might be for boot-soup, he strongly doubted that he would be winning this competition.

Or any of them, if he were honest.

"Your confidence in me," he said flatly and more honestly than he wished, "is inspiring."

And gods it was, it was and Nicol wished he could grant her half the color and joy she brought to his world.

He desperately wished he could give her that same strange soaring feeling of being able to do anything... so long as she was near.

As it was, there was really only one thing he could give her.

"It appears," Nicol said, slowly and neatly tearing the boot-soup recipe into tiny pieces, "that I will need to give you congratulations, my lady. I am glad that you have finally found someone to your taste."

Katarina's eyes – always so sharp and beautiful – suddenly looked impossibly hopeful as well. It made Nicol's heart hurt even as he stared at the shreds of boot-soup in his hands.

"You will?" she said, her voice high and wavering. "Do you... do you finally understand what I am trying to tell you?"

"Prince Cezar," said Nicol, not daring to look at her if he was to keep his voice from breaking, "is an excellent man and I am sure that he will help you forget any of the pain and indignities that you have suffered in the past. You deserve the best and I congratulate Prince Cezar for having realized it. May you be happy together after you two wed."

Nicol felt as if he had used all the words he could ever use, his heart as torn and shredded as the boot-soup in his hands.

But he had done it.

He had, finally, seen Katarina find her happiness.

He only wished it didn't feel as if he was as empty now as the soldiers' boot rack no doubt was.

But whatever thoughts he had about living a long, lonely, and possibly boot-less life as Katarina left to marry Prince Cezar were abruptly destroyed by her next actions.

Because in an entirely surprising move, Katarina decided to get up from her chair, slam her hands down on his desk, and shout, "Oh, you infuriating man! Nicol Ascart, if I did not love you as wildly and passionately as I do, I would have thrown you out the window and into the shrubs that you keep hiding behind!"

Nicol blinked.

“Pardon?” he found himself asking again, sure that he must have something wrong with his ears.

“No!” Katarina cried, contradicting him for the first time. “I cannot and will not pardon you! For I love you too passionately to continue to make do!”

Suddenly, Nicol realized that all this time, his fears of losing Katarina had been misplaced all along.

Then, in a move that he would never be willing to discuss in years to come while Katarina cackled endlessly as she described it to others, he vaulted the desk, smoothly landed in front of Katarina, and bent her over backwards to lean towards her with an admittedly not entirely sane look in his eyes.

Barely a breath from her lips he whispered, "May I please kiss every inch of you, my lady?"

It was, thought Nicol, in the delightful place in his mind that had taken over his body, an entirely reasonable request.

For it turned out that Sophia had been absolutely right about the best wooing tactics after all.

Even as Katarina passionately pressed her form to his and met his lips with her own, Nicol realized that his life had something more glorious than boot soup at long last.

Alas, even that moment of perfect happiness had to recede eventually, though it took far more time than he would concede to any other human being besides his beloved. After he and Katarina finally disentangled from one another, she finally admitted something most important to him.

"My dearest Nicol, I hope your last display was a tacit admission that you care for me just as ardently as I do you. For I have loved you for months upon end – and I confess, spoke of Prince Cezar to try and make you jealous! Which was petty and foolish of me, I know, but... oh, I was so desperately afraid that I would go unloved by yet another man that I adored!”

Nicol interrupted her words with a series of deep kisses that he hoped would serve as a very good answer.

“Does that mean,” Katarina said breathlessly once he disentangled from her, “that you forgive me for resorting to such insipid subterfuge when I should have been honest from the beginning?"

"Katarina," said Nicol, "my heart was yours from the very first time you cackled in front of me. Although I may have been slow to realize it and even worse at speaking of it, you're the soup for my soul, the boot that keeps me moving."

There was, Nicol realized, a very good reason why he didn't write poetry.

(The giant basket full of crumpled paper notwithstanding.)

More importantly, as he leaned towards his beloved once more, he murmured, "There's nothing to forgive, my dear Katarina. From now on, we need not worry about anything save how to remain happy."

Leaning forward to resume activities from the book that was more useful than he had imagined, Nicol was unprepared for further interruptions.

"Still," said Katarina, obviously not completely of one mind with Nicol on interruptions, a thoughtful look coming to her face. "I only have one fear regarding our union."

"What is it?" Nicol asked, even as he was unable to resist kissing her beautiful face once again, wanting desperately to reassure any last concerns that she might have.

"Do you suppose," said Katarina in between increasingly passionate kisses, "that it would be difficult for me to learn how to knit socks for our future children's cloven hooves? I've already chosen the colors since they will also, thank God, be dark of hair."